The First Hunger Games (Yesterday)
by t4courtney
Summary: I can't enjoy today, knowing full well it could be my last. There's no use trying to relive Yesterday, that world is gone. And tomorrow may never come. These are the Hunger Games, facing the horrors of Yesterday, has never been so hard. Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins. Rated T for Hunger games. SYOT Closed.
1. Rebellion Status: Over

I was being dragged by the man in white. Peacekeepers.

That's what they called themselves. in my books, peacekeepers should not kill you for stepping out of line. Peacekeepers should not kill you for following what you believe in.

Yesterday the Capitol defeated District 13. And the rebellion finally came to an end. I had been on the losing side of the rebellion, but at least I got the chance to stand up in what I believe in. The white peacekeeper dragging me to my resting place was a coward.

He didn't defy the Capitol like I had. Out of fear. Through the black glass of his mask, our eyes had connected together for a few seconds. I say remorse, sorry in them. Too late for that now. That was what I had witnessed before he tied the black mask over my head. We were faceless. To show that anyone could be killed.

If he believed in the same as I, he should have acted like I had.

Instead he hid in the Capitol's shadow. Too sacred to act. It was people like these that made us, the rebels, the loosing side of the war.

But that didn't matter. I was dead now. Or would be in seconds. My head low, was swinging back and forth. Too lazy to hold it still. To angry and dead to hold it still. My rough hands were bruised and whipped. Blood pouring from the recent cuts.

My body was rising now. I felt it do so. My knees hit the stairs as he dragged me to my final resting place.

My already bloody and bruised knees, were being scraped up against the hard stone of the steps.

I wanted to break free. But it wouldn't do any good. We'd lost the war. District 13 had been erased completely. One man couldn't make a difference in a matter this big. No matter what they told us.

Who was they?

I didn't know what to think anymore.

My body was slammed against the ground when the man spoke to me.

On word, on word, on meaningless word. Sorry couldn't help anyone now.

I heard a gun cock. And I closed my eyes. The black face mask was still covering my identity. I could hear the cries of my district, telling the Capitol this wasn't the way to handle things. Screaming for no more murder. I hoped to hear my wife's voice. But if she had been screaming, it was drowned out by the other desperate pleas of our citizen's.

I wasn't sure if there were more men with me, men or woman also sentenced to death. I just kept looking forward. My head facing the cement.

The man shouldn't have said sorry. It might get him killed too. He was a Peacekeeper, he was not suppose to say sorry to his captives.

The bullet was fired.

My eyes closed tightly. I felt myself lose consciousness. The wound in the back of my skull was burning. Everything started fading out to black. My whole body fell forward. I heard screams from the children and their mothers. People shielding each other's eyes. They had all been forced to come. Capitol's orders. I really hated the Capitol.

Suddenly I felt numb, the pain in my head gone, the sounds of our District gone. Everything was nothing. Everything was blank. I was deaf and blind in the afterlife and I was mighty happy. Ignorance was bliss.

I believed in rebellion to my grave.

So now here I was. Lying dead on a stage.

My eyes finally closed and they didn't open again.

I saw the light of Heaven, and I accepted the hand of fate. Proving just how right the rebels had been.

We may have been the losing side, but we were on the right one.

ooooOoooo

SYOT:

Name:

Age:

Gender:

District:

Appearance:

Personality:

Backstory:

Relationships (Friends, family, etc...):

Reaped/Volunteered:

Reaction:

Token (Optional):

Outfits (Reaping, Chariots, Interviews):

Training (Previous, Training Center, Private Session):

Training score:

Interview Angle:

Weapon of Choice:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Estimated Place:

Other:

 **No Mary-Stues. Be realistic. it's first come first serve, so have fun ;) This is my first SYOT, so pls no flames. Those are for Katniss.**


	2. Maya Spencer, D1, Female, Age 17

_Maya Spencer, age 17, District 1, Female._

As I was walking down the winding street, I couldn't help but sneer at the fallen rebels, destined for public execution. Daddy and I were just walking down the street, supervising the plans for the execution that would take place her in a few.

Daddy was a very powerful person. He worked with the Capitol himself. He helped create the idea of a Hunger Games. Unfortunately he made me keep his top secret Hunger games plan a secret. No matter how much I wanted to tell my loyal band of friends.

There was Jaimay, Keira, Catie. There were more of course. I can't name them all though.

I looked at the new scars lining my body. It was a shame to ruin this body, but I wanted to help bring the Capitol to victory. So using my strength and incredible beauty I went and fought for what my daddy believed in.

The rebels who were currently tied to the white peacekeepers sent me looks of absolute loathing. I gripped Daddy's arm and kept walking. They were just jealous of my looks and that I was smart enough to choose the winning side of the rebellion. I stuck my chin into the air and kept walking. Daddy had said he had a meeting with the mayor.

Something to do with the Games. I didn't have all the details yet, but I couldn't wait to find them out. Daddy had just dropped little bombs like that it would involve ALL the Districts and, maybe a shortage of rebels. Now that was something I wanted to be a part of.

It was pretty chilly today. The wind was blowing my soft brown curls into my hazel eyes. I hurriedly brushed them out of my face with pure annoyance. As I kept brushing my curls away daddy came to a stop in front of the Mayor's house. I didn't like the mayor.

He always acted so horrible to me. Calling me spoiled. Behind my back of course, but I had my ways. He also thought that he was better than my daddy.

My daddy's deep voice brushed me out of my thoughts. I stopped trying to brush my curls away and looked up to meet his eyes. "Maya darling, daddy needs to go see the mayor to discuss… the _Games_. You just stay here, pumpkin." He then let go of my hand and walked up the steps to the mansion. Those were the first words he had spoken to me in a long time. He had been too worked up in all his fancy capitol business.

That's OK with me though, I learned to live without love the second he was deported to a higher rank in the war efforts. I had tried to gain his attention buy joining the leading attacks. I was a proud Loualist, and an even better shooter. They didn't realize, but I was so young, my talent was being wasted at the back, so they moved me up. Leading attacks! It was great, I thought for sure he would notice me then, but he didn't.

Now we barely spoke a word to each other.

I stood outside in my nice blue dress daddy had given to me for my birthday. I remember the girl in my school who criticised it. She was just jealous that I got to skip school because I joined the army and that my daddy was much better than hers. I gave that girl a good piece of my mind.

And a slap to the face. She cried right there in the hallways and skipped school the following morning.

I remember how in school had to continue in some districts while the war was going on. Like District 1. The cold breeze brought me back to my senses. What was I doing just standing here! Nobody tells me what to do. Not even daddy.

With that I ruffled my hair, giving it the extra Poof, that it needed, I creaked open the door. The mayor house was fantastic, one to rival ours. I opened the door just enough so that i could fit inside the creek. I needed to find my daddy, tell him to never leave me outside in the cold ever again. Even if it was only 14 degrees.

I opened and closed doors, hoping to find the mayor. I grumbled as dress got caught on a nail jutting out of the wall. Now daddy would have to buy me a new one! I wanted to whine about it right then and there. I wanted to scream, shout a bit if necessary. But I couldn't

I looked at the rip as I tugged my dress free from its captors. I would have whined in the hallway, but then I remembered that I was on a stealth mission to find my daddy.

I then found a big room. I thought it was big at least, the door was bigger than me so it had to be something important.

Bigger is better.

I slightly cracked open the door to hear the voice of our pudgy mayor and my father's elegant, deep and soothing voice. I smirked, just seeing the two in comparison was something to laugh about. I pitied the daughter of our mayor.

"Your daughter's name will be in the ballots, you know we can't make any exceptions." The mayor voice made me cringe. My daddy deserved that position, not this man, but I did quite like my daddy's current job of working with the Cap.

"You know I am a very powerful man. I can get many things." Daddy is a very powerful man. The mayor should know this already, he isn't an idiot. I could feel myself mentally rolling my eyes, can I actually take back my last statement?

"So? My son's name will also be in the ballots. And if he gets reaped I will have to pray that someone will volunteer! Your daughter will be no different. And who's to say she won't volunteer."

"Maya wouldn't. She wouldn't volunteer. And her name will not be put into the ballots!"

"Your daughter would be no different than the other twenty-three tributes who will be sent off to their deaths. If she gets reaped or decides to Volunteer!" the mayor was really starting to raise his voice now. And I didn't like what they were talking about. Death Games?

"Maya can't go off into the games! She's just a kid. I need her to continue the family business!" Was that the only reason Daddy kept me around? My smile started to drop. I didn't even care that my hair no longer had its signature poof to it. I crinkled my nose in disgust. Maybe my _father_ wasn't so great after all.

"And the other twenty-three tributes won't be kids? Won't have families?"

"But they will be rebels." My father sneered at the last part.

I very slowly closed the door drowning out the sounds of my daddy's and the mayor's conversation. Then I thought back onto it. Maybe if I volunteered for these games then daddy would want to keep me around for more than just continuing the family business. I crossed my arms, honestly nobody deserved this much of my attention, yet somehow he was getting it.

And to be honest, I was not the first person you'd want taking over a business. Maybe my father just hadn't come to terms with that yet. I

walked out of the mayor's mansion and took my place at the entrance of the house. Deciding that I would volunteer for these games. It also had something to do with rebels. Something to do with hurting them, daddy had mentioned death.

Less rebels would be nice. I can imagine, killing them with my guns, but that would be too quick. No, they al deserved, slow and painful deaths. Maybe a little torture, yes! That would be... Perfect.

Yes, I would volunteer for whatever these Hunger games were. Can you imagine? I would be great and the honours of course! Daddy had mentioned something about _great_ honours. I licked my lips slyly.

A few minutes later Daddy came out of the house. I latched onto his arm. We were now going to see the public executions. Daddy and I got front row seats. I crinkled my nose in disgust at the rebels. They were all idiots. I wondered if Midas would be up there, maybe Midas was already dead. I sure hoped he was, he was dead to me. He had gone over to the other side. The rebel side. So really, I kind of hoped he was under one of those masks.

The gun fired and I couldn't help the smile creeping onto my face. I was sick and twisted, but it felt _good._ So good in fact, that maybe, just maybe, it made me want to volunteer even more.

Volunteering for some games I didn't even properly understand. Now that was bold, but bold is exactly what I am.

ooooOoooo

"You're a bitch, you know that right?" A girl, maybe a year younger than me, was talking to me at school. But it was not something nice, far from it actually. I looked her up and down, she was pretty-ish.

She had long blonde hair, that touched a little below her elbows, it was straight, not at all wavy like mine, which was currently in a high bony tail. My brown locks were slowly flying out of it though, Steiger into my face every time the wind blew. Her eyes, unlike my Hazel ones, were brow, practically black pupils. I crinkled my nose, it just didn't go well, with her outfit either. I decieded right then and there, that this girl was not pretty, far from it, according to me. And my friends once I gossip about it to them at lunch.

"If I'm the bitch than you're slut. To be honest at first I just thought you were fat, but we can now clearly see that you're pregnant! How does it feel, to be a soon-to-be mother?"

I felt a hand raise and I smacked mine against it, five fingers on five. She turned and ran. I could hear some sort of whimper coming from her, like I cared. I continued on my way, winking at a boy with brown hair, green eyes and a very lean build on my way to class.

I say him blush before turning away to face his friend, a red-head with striking blue eyes. I smiled, I loved power. And power I was gonna get, once I won the Hinger Games.

* * *

 **Thanks OoOgx1256 for Maya, it was fun writing her. The District 2F position is now filled and the District 8F is reserved. Just a heads up for anyone wanting to submit for them. I'll be posting the districts on my profile for all the** **available** **tributes. The next tribute up is Diana Riverton :)**


	3. Diana Riverton, D5, Female, Age 18

Diana Riverton, age 18, District 5, Female

I was at home now. Washing the blood from my fresh cuts. The water wasn't clean but I didn't care. The icy water cursed through my veins sending my body into shock. But I was used to the pain now.

"Diana dear, coming?" my grandmother called me downstairs. 65 and still living. She was all the family I had left. My three brothers had died in the rebellion. So had my parents. they had chosen to rebel against the capitol. I had told them not to. To stay neutral, but if someone truly believes in something... You won't be able to stop them.

I remember the day. They were protesting, uprising with the other rebels of our district. The peacekeepers arrived seconds later. It took about five minutes to kill the mob. I remember coming outside to a street full of lifeless bodies.

My mind was spinning, my face turning green. I had ducked under my bed when I heard the gunshots being fired.

Then it was the final straw when my eye caught those of my mother's body. I slowly backed up and shut my brown eyes. When I opened them once more, i realized that my mother' body was resting on my father's. My brothers' next to them. All staring in different directions. My mother's in mine.

I had screamed, cried. My grandmother took me in after that. She had been too old to rebel. Good thing too. If the stupid rebels hadn't persuaded my family to join them they would be here with me today! And instead of cutting, my brothers Andrew and Jacob would be teaching me something cool. Ian would have been off to college.

My eyes started swelling but I held back the tears. I gritted my teeth forcing them to stay dry.

"June's over!" Her voice rang clear through my head. I quickly finished rinsing the blood away. Covered my mocha arms with my sleeves and prayed they wouldn't notice the small red blotches staining the royal blue shirt. I pulled my dreadlocks, hoping I hadn't accidentally cut them off.

June was my girlfriend. Yes! I was homosexual! Before the rebellion I was called horrible names for it, but once the war started nobody seemed to care about it anymore. We all had bigger things to worry about.

Like death. The tears started again, but I couldn't let June see me like this. I wiped away the water with my hand and finally reached our kitchen where June and my grandmother were calmly seated. Drinking the only water we had now. so to say, filthy water.

My narrow brown eyes seemed to widen in disgust, it was all the rebels fault we were in this mess. I hated them. But I tried to look happy for June. She deserved it. Her whole family had died in the war. We offered her to stay with us, but she refused. At least my grandmother lived.

Letting me move in with her. Ian, my eldest brother, would have lived in this house. He was grandmother's favorite, so she offered the house to him.

June face immediately lit up when her eyes landed on my face. Her features scrunched up in joy. She was beautiful. Her light brown hair complimented her freckles, which flew over her petite nose. her facial structure was perfect. Compared to mine... We were an odd couple, I was standing at 5''7, her at only 5''4. Our skin of opposite colours. Not to mention the fact we were both homosexuals, made everything worse. The names and insults ten times more heavy, and ten times more meaningful.

I hated when people judge me for my sexuality, skin or appearance. My face sunk to a dark level. My eyes took on a hideous look in them. June saw this too. her expression immediately dropped. "Diana?"

She gingerly played with one of my dreadlocks, her green eyes boring into mine. "Just thinking." My answer was muffled by her head. She gave me a quick peck on the lips before my grandmother coughed loudly. I wasn't sure if it was because she was old or felt uncomfortable. Probably both. June blushed and looked away and my face took on a smug smile.

She flattened out her shirt before muttering a quick apology to my grandmother, who simply laughed. June wasn't that comfortable with a lot of PDA, I wasn't either so it worked out. June then looked at me before changing the subject.

"How's your poetry going?" He face still slightly crimson from the kiss. My eyes looked at her lips for a second before reverting back to her face.

"Same as ever." I shrugged, but my eyes told a different story. I think she saw the excitement in them so she let the subject drop.

Poetry. I used it to express myself. It calmed me when I was angry or sad. Let me jot down ideas when I was happy or excited. I even had a few of about june, but the majority were of my now deceased family, and the war.

I gave her another little peck.

She smiled and I swore the room lit up a thousand brighter. Then I watched as her smile faded and her eyes turned stormy. "Why is there blood on your shirt?" I looked down.

I should have cleaned it better. June, without my consent, yanked my shirt sleeve up to reveal my many white scars. They were of all different shapes and sizes. The small straight newer ones and the jagged and long older ones. They looked like a pattern along my arm, a beautiful intricate designs of hopelessness."I told you to stop cutting! When you cut yourself part of me dies in the inside, part of you dies too. You know I hate it when you cut."

I looked down ashamed. June, like any good girlfriend, hated that I cut. She hated it because she cared. It was rebels, she knew it was the rebels that made me cut.

"I understand why you do it, but when you do I feel like bursting into to tears. I care about you, just remember that" When she went on about stuff like that it made me feel selfish for cutting. At this point I could probably kill and not feel any remorse in it.

My soul was already that damaged. I may hesitate for a second if it was a loyalist. But a rebel, _I might even enjoy it._

I shivered at the thought. What was wrong with me. I looked at June and my grandmother, the only reasons I didn't just quit life now. That's when I remembered that June and I weren't alone.

My head slowly turned in my grandmother's direction. Her face was neutral, impossible to read. Was she dissapointed? Her face didn't tell me anything. I looked into her brown eyes, identical to mine. They showed me sadness. An emotion I understood. Possibly all too well.

"Diana." her hoarse voice startled me. For a moment I thought she was dying. My features widened when I thought I might have to perform CPR. "Do you know the real reason I called you down here? And June of course." My grandmother loved June, always included her in on everything.

June vigorously shook her head. She found my grandmother fascinating. Me on the other hand... she was like a nutty old bag of potatoes. "You understand how practically the whole District thinks I'm deaf don't you?" She gave us expecting looks, even though she was more focused on June her stare was icy cold.

This time we both nodded. In fact the whole District did think she was deaf, most people her age in the District were. It didn't help that most of her 'friends' were.

"well, when someones 'deaf' you don't bother shutting your mouth during important conversations. I overhear a lot of things." I started to wonder where she was going with this? I leaned in slightly I looked at June, whom seemed to be completely absorbed.

"Things like what?" June's curiosity was getting the better of her. I wasn't going to deny that I was also pretty curious. My head cocked to the side.

"Things like..."

She looked at me with a look that made me wish June had never asked. Grandmother's face didn't look human. The fear in her eyes were so prominent that it made me feel like my parents had died all over again.

"Things like the Hunger Games." I didn't know what that meant but I was scared already. My cuts seemed fresh as I slammed my fists against the wall in fear. I didn't know what they were, but _Hunger_ was never good. Hunger had killed thousands.

 **So that was Diana Riverton. Thank you for her, I hoped I did OK? And for all those comments about the name calling, I just based that off my friend who's Bisexual. I definitely don't have anything against Homosexuals. I just hope you guys know that. So peace out or whatever...**


	4. Marrisa Zale, D4, Female, Age 16

**A/N. I need more bloodbath tributes! So far I only have three! So please submit more. If not your tributes, instead of coming in at 8th or 4th or something they may be forced to die at the bloodbath. It's making the death lineup really hard to make since everyone has been submitting tributes and requesting them to come top 8.**

 **Strong tributes are great, but having too many is not a good thing. It makes figuring out the Victor extremely difficult.**

* * *

 _Marrisa Zale, District 4, Female, age 16_

The dummies head fell off and landed on the ground with a satisfying _Clump._ I smirked victoriously and wiped the sweat off my forehead. My training partner troy standing next to me. An expression of mock satisfaction plastered upon his face.

I am Marrisa Zale. My mother was a general on the battlefield. Front lines. Being her daughter I need to live up to standards. Even if she's dead now. She died in a boating accident. Not uncommon for people in District 4. The fishing District. One of the more loyalist District might I add.

My father and siblings had been devastated. But I had a feeling it hit me the hardest. See, I always had a feeling I was my mother's favorite. She had always payed extra attention to me. She had trained me from the age of six for the rebellion. That was 5 years before it actually started.

See, my mother was a smart woman. She had heard talk of an uprising. An uprising that would perhaps happen in the near future. Unlike all the other important government officials, she didn't just think that the nation of Panem would stay calm and peaceful forever. No. She knew that a rebellion would happen sooner or later.

She trained me for it. In secret of course. She was not allowed to voice her concerns. She had to be a figure. If she had anything to worry about she would report it directly to the president.

The president brushed aside these concerns and continued on with ruling the way he had been since his first day as president. After my mother's death I just kept training harder. With my best friend Troy of course. Him and I had been training together for as long as I could remember.

I smiled at him and grabbed my trident. I was good with a sword, but a trident will forever be my weapon of choice. I know guns were the weapon fir most, but my mother hadn't let a five year old hear a gun, but now looking back on it, neither was the best choice. At all. She should have just shown me how to use a slingshot instead. Now that would be useful. Note the sarcasm.

We sparred for a bit. Finally I managed to pin him down. The three pointy tops of my trident pointed at his face. We would never actually harm each other. So my weapon was about three centimeters away from his face. His blue eyes were sparkling as he gently declared me as the victor. I rolled my eyes as he seemed to do a sort of crowning, with a piece of rope he found on the floor, covered in dirt and sweat. I gagged as he placed it onto my head, quickly shaking it off. He laughed.

I helped him up after he dropped to floor. Saying, "For a second I thought you were actually going to chop my face off." We both laughed at that. And for a second I felt bad. According to my now deceased mother the other districts weren't as nice as ours. If someone were to say that to anyone the perpetrator would have been whipped or killed.

I shivered. I Couldn't imagine punishments so severe.

Troy must've noticed my discomfort because he slung an arm around my shoulder. he didn't ask what I was thinking about, to which I was grateful. I sighed into him, hoping he didn't notice, the slight chuckle coming for a certain boy suggested otherwise. I glared up at him. "That ugly face of yours is already damaged as is." It was supposed to come out in a teasing tone, but instead it sounded serious.

His arm immediately fell off my shoulder and rested at his side. He mumbled a quick, "Yeah, whatever." I shrunk, I hadn't meant to offend him. Sometimes I rubbed people in the wrong way. But honestly, I wish he would learn to take a joke. We have our whole lives ahead of us, he's going to have to deal with it. I looked at his muscled arms which were beaded in sweat. Then I looked at my own.

My strong, athletic arms were slightly bruised and had a few minor scrapes. I had some scars from all my training sessions. I ran my finger along one and I shivered when I got to my oldest one. It was from when I was six and had just started learning how to use a sword. You can imagine how that turned out.

My black curls fell in front of my eyes and I hadn't realized that my head was so dangerously low in shame. I propped it back up and held my chin in the air high. Troy should know I hadn't meant to offend him. I turned my head away from him. I huffed out a sigh and kept walking.

We walked home, where my father was waiting. To say he was a little distant would be an understatement. After my mother's death he became a little lost in his own world. He still cared for us, he talked to us, played with us, payed for us. But something changed, it was subtle. The other members of our District didn't notice but we did.

My sister Sophie and brother named Chase were nowhere to be seen. They were probably in their rooms doing who knows what.

Our house was considered a mansion. With all that money from my mother we couldn't simply live in an old rundown shack now could we? So my mother had bought a beautiful mansion. It was gorgeous really. The blue walls matched her eyes exactly. Troy guided me inside, even it should have been the other way around, we both nodded a quick hello to my father and went up stairs.

"I'm sorry. I was just teasing you know." I very reluctantly muttered out my apology. It sounded a little forced but Troy understood. We had been best friends for ten years. He had learnt to deal with my quirks.

He smiled at me, showing off his pearly white. "But can you please get off my bed, your sweat is contaminating it!" This time he understood that it was a joke.

"Yes, because you too, are sweat free." He rolled his eyes sarcastically.

"I'm not as bad as you." He crossed his arms in mock hurt. And I just smiled smugly at him before rolling my eyes.

"Weawwy?" He questioned. Jutting out his bottom lip. I burst into laughter. And not long after he followed. We were having the time of our life until my door creaked open and the face of my sister Sophie appeared. She looked a lot like me, same black hair, except she had cut hers short, while mine fell to about my waist hers just barely touched her shoulders. Our eyes were significantly different as well, mine a light blue, hers a dark green. Both colours of the sea.

"Listen, I don't want to interrupt anything going on between you two," We stopped laughing as our faces turned a light crimson, "BUT WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?!"

She then slammed the door and we burst into another fit of giggles. "I'm so amazing I'm Sophie, everyone shut up."I started impersonating my younger sister Sophie. Triy was laughing horribly, then joined in by, very badly, trying to sound like my older brother. He sounded like a dying hamster. "Look I'm Chase." His arms then did an awkward gesture at which I couldn't help but laugh at.

Next I did my dad. And by that time Troy was wiping away some tears.

"Who's next, your mom?"

My eyes shot up towards him and my features turned scary. My normally calm sea blue eyes now taking on a dangerous shade of green. I hated when people mentioned my family. I gulped and staggered back, looking at me with guilt.

He looked ashamed as he sputtered out many apologies. "Why don't we take a break for tonight? You can go home now." I gave him a light smile. he just looked down, ashamed, at his shoes. "Sorry."

I muttered a quick response, something along the lines of, "It's Kay."

Before he walked out I almost changed my mind and asked him to stay. Sometimes I acted like a guy. Most people would call me a tomboy. But at that moment my inner girl shot out. Normally I tried to conceal the fact I was more boy-ish than other girls my age. But my mother had trained me for war, how was I suppose to learn Etiquette?

Tomorrow I would apologize to Troy, he just forgot that I didn't have a mom. He was too caught up in the heat of the moment. He had a mom, so sometimes he just forgets and assumes that I do too. I got dark when anyone mentioned my family, but Troy was different.

I sighed, sometimes I wish life could go back to before the war. There were already talk about punishment, punishment like we've never seen before , games. How games can be punishment, I'm not sure. Maybe life is different in the other Districts, maybe, just maybe. And I wish I could see hem, how cool would that be?

Imagine what Distruct 8 would look like, they do make all our clothes. In my subconscious, it's very colourful, full of life. But I'm pretty sure my subconscious is wrong, because I doubt anything could be that cheery after the war. The war had changed us all. For better or worse? I have no idea.

* * *

 **So that was Marrisa. She was challenging because I had to change some things with her. First of all her mother couldn't have been a Victor because this was the first games, so I made her a high government official instead. And Marrisa couldn't have trained for the Games since she was six considering she only found out about them this year. Hope the changes work for you.**


	5. Iris Elmswood, D6, Female, Age 14

_Iris Elmswood, District 5, Age 14, Female_

The golden bell attached to our shop door rung as someone walked inside my family's sweet shop.

My head perked up at the familiar sound. I was on shift while my father and mother were in back.

Ever since the rebellion ended the shop had been busier, I guess now people actually had the time. But, really it made you wish that they simply stayed home. Yes, I liked the business, but there was so much more to worry about other than _sweets. The_ war hadn't effected us nearly as much as my friends, or per se the rest of our District. We had chosen to stay neutral in the war. Something not too uncommon for the people in our district.

But that's not what you'd expect.

The man who had just entered was tall, a gun by his side. A Peacekeeper. He was here for the monthly inspection of our shop. Ever since the rebellion they had been suspicious of everyone. Even though we were al too bloody coward to do anything about anything.

They checked the shops monthly, for show of potential rebellion. At the moment he was looking at something blue on one the left shelves. His back towards me and the counter.

I found the whole thing horrible. The war, the loss. The man look around the shop, he picked at an unidentifiable piece of food, I couldn't see it from my place behind the cash. He cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at me in question.

I shrunk under his gaze, desperately hoping he would soon leave. He came close instead, I couldn't see his eyes, but it made me nervous nonetheless. He stared me down, I gulped. I heard a chuckle, and then he left. The bell jingling merrily as he left.

I paled, it seemed so wrong, such a happy sound, in such an unhappy world.

I watched him as he went. He glared at a few stands, intimidating the people behind them, running them. I sighed. Safe. No signs of rebellion. If there had been... public wipppings and punishments for me and my family.

Even now, weeks after the rebellion and spies were still out there, but the Capitol would put an end to that soon.

I stepped outside of the cash to look out the window. We lived in the richer part of District 6. But if I strained my eyes I could just about make out the poorer part of our district. To my right, I could make out the trains fir which we were famous for. They took us to the Cpitol. Or they took the wealthiest to the Capitol.

The trains were hustling along the tracks to my left and to my right I saw a lovely family of three. They weren't smiling though, the boy, blonde hair, blue eyes was wailing. I couldn't hear him through the blue stained glass of our shop.

The father was standing tall, and proud, like the dead me member had died doing something great. At least Iassymed someone had died, they were walking away from a graveyard after all. The mother was sniffling not a hankerchidef, it was lovely, purple with floral designs etched into it. You only find that sort of thing in District 8, I wonder where she got it? It seemed that between sniffles she was consoling her little boy, who seemed to have inherited his father's features.

A family of three. They used to be four. The war had taken so much from us, even those who weren't to blame.

When I came to the conclusion that the shop was not busy at all, two customers an hour, I decided to take my break. Seems like the peacekeepers may have scared off all the customers. Even though it was a family business we mockingly acted as if it weren't.

"Taking my break, if you hear the bell then it's probably not me. Open the door." I called to my parents who were currently on the back. Most likely making some sort of sweet. I heard an... Explosion. And thought it was better not to ask. I heard a response, which was my cue to leave. I fastened my hat over my bright red hair, trying to conceal it as to not being to much attention to myself.

I always seemed turn heads when my hair was exposed. In a bland District my red hair was eye catching.

It didn't help that my eyes were a stunning, bright blue. They looked a little like the sky. Reflecting my mood by being stormy or clear.

I grabbed a few coins from the pocket of my coat, which I formerly decided to leave behind, it was summer after all. I needed the money in case I decided to buy something, my family and I couldn't live off of candy now could we?

No matter how lovely it may seem. I swung open the door and gleefully marched outside enjoying he breeze. I kept my head low, receiving a few glares from the poorer citizens. The money in my pocket seemed heavier as I passed them.

I threw some change at a homeless begger before swiftly moving on.

Ever since the war more homeless emerged from the great realm of Panem. Some rich became poor in a matter of seconds. It was horrible.

I hadn't realized it but my feet had brought me to a familiar destination. It was my best friend Cyrie's house. She was a year older than me and much poorer.

The war ruined her family. The details I'd rather not go into. But her father, brother and cousin had all died. Leaving her and her mother to fend for themselves.

We tried our best to help, but we too were slowly slipping into poverty. My parents seemed to make less every day. And having to also help Cyrie was difficult.

Half of our money went to them, which left just enough money for us to pay the Capitol. Cyrie's mother works at the train statios, like the majority of our population. The trains were us.

I rapidly knocked on the door, brushing a loose curl behind my ear.

Five minutes later an elderly woman opened the door. Cyrie's mother wasn't that old, but stress had gotten to her. Her once beautiful face, now encrusted with worry lines and scars. Her once pure blond hair now with gray streaks everywhere.

Her lips were chapped. The poor woman had gone through so much.

Compared to Iris at least. She deserved a better life. I brushed a strand of her golden hair behind her ear, helping her. Over the last year she had become like family to me.

"Iris, dear." Her voice was soft, but she seemed genuinely pleased and excited to see me. "Hello," I peaked inside her home, which was right behind her. Searching for my best friend. " is Cyrie home?" Scrunched my eyebrows together in concentration.

The old woman simply laughed. "She's in her room dear."

"Thank you Mrs. Paulson." I gave her a quick hug at first she was a little surprised, before she embraced me in her warm arms. We were practically the same height, so it was like hugging an old friend.

I walked inside, not even bothering to look at the very familiar setting. I checked the kitchen first, it was where Cyrie, if not in her room, spent most of her time.

when I finally found her snuggled in her room, I couldn't help but laugh. The coins jingling in my pocket as I did. Her blond hair was tangled and puffy.

"Geh Cyrie."

"Dud you just say Geh?" She looked up from her pillow at me, her face scrunched together. Her face and lazy attitude was hilarious. I alway stopped by early in the morning, on weekends when I wasn't at school, to see her in the state.

Even though technically she was older than me, I like to think as myself as the older one. "Eerghmerb, is it the weekend?"

I nodded before bursting into another fit of giggles. My hat tumbling to the floor and coins jingling madly in my pocket. "Did you bring candy?"

My face contorted into a look of mock hurt. My bottom lip jutted out. "Are you saying that we're only friends because I give you candy?"

"Hells yeah." She rolled over into her pillow, trying to hide her laughter. I just rolled my eyes. We both reluctantly started laughing. She turned around to face me.

Opened her mouth, as if to say something. She never finished the thought.

I grabbed a brush from her table and threw it at her. It hit her square in the face, she flopped back down onto her bed with a dramatic clump. We started laughing. Best friends are like that. But by the end of the day, you gotta love 'em.

ooooOoooo

Thirty minutes later my break ended. I slowly dragged myself away from the homely house and started towards the market.

My hat now firmly back onto my head. I should be heading back to the shop now. I stopped by vegetables stand and exchanged my coins for some food. The old lady though grabbed my arm as I started to leave. Her haggle red arm gripped me tightly.

"How old are you now dear?" Her bony hand clutching my arm. I squirmed a little as I replied weakly, "15." My voice came out horse and nervous.

She gave me a sad look before muttering something about games. Which just confused me more, she shot me another sympathetic look.

"Good luck." Her faril fingers gently lifted off my arm. I pulled the bag of vegetables over my shoulder and kept walking. My whole journey home, I just wondered about one thing, the lady had mentioned something called the Hunger Games. And to be honest, that thought scared me more than I would have liked to admit.

* * *

 **So that was Iris. Not much detail on the form so I improvised. Not my best work, sorry. Her future chapters will be much better, I can assure you. I don't need any more bloodbath tributes, but thank you for all your submissions.**


	6. Midas Ambertide, D1, Male, Age 17

_Midas, District 1, Male, Age 18_

"You're a disgrace to our District!" I swiftly dodged out of the way of the incoming garbage flung in my direction. I was just sitting there, against the wall, minding my own business. But people were throwing garbage at me.

Why? You might ask. Well here's your answer.

I'm a rebel... in District 1.

Practically my whole District had been Loyalist, but I said practically.

A few days ago some of my buds had been publicly executed. Jaron, Tony and Septer had all been murdered for standing up for what they believe in. It was sick and twisted. The whole District was forced to come and watch, although mot had come by choice. Like I said we were mostly Loyalist. I remember standing there, watching them get executed. Trying to pretend I enjoyed seeing my mates die, gruesomely murdered in front of me.

I wanted to puke when I saw a girl in the front row, clutching on to her father smile as Septer's head was shot. I pained me to see her smile, we had a rough past. Nobody but me knew it was Septer under that mask. How? A mask was also put over my head. So why was I standing sitting here now? Still living and still living a literal Hell.

Personally I'd rather have died then to be stuck here. Pelted with garbage and called names like 'bastard' and dickhead'. Why didn't I die? Simple. My parents.

When I first decided I believed in the Rebel cause I had bailed on my parents beliefs and enforced my own. In secret of course.

I had persuaded it, my beliefs, by telling my family I was helping the loyalist side. They believed me of course, they're strong, only-child, finally grown up. it made me sad yes, but I couldn't fight for something I thought was wrong. Every night me and my buds would go to 'rallies' and battlefields. My family had decided to not take part in the shooting or fights, instead like all the other spoiled rich, powerful families, they stayed in the comfort of their own home.

They were cowards, I was disgusted to even be related.

I stayed fighting in District 1 for a few more weeks, those were the best of my life. I was free, killing people was not good, but I firmly believed in what I as doing, and so did they. whenever I shot someone down I would offer them a little prayer before moving on.

So with all the confusion of the war, I was crossed over to District 2, we had no knowledge of the outside Districts. Well I didn't anyways. My parents wouldn't let me watch the news, said I was 'too young'. Yeah right. I was more mature at fourteen then they were at forty.

So we crossed, we thought District 2 was Rebel. Boy were we wrong. They were even more loyal to the Capitol then District 1. We didn't realize it at first, then everything went downhill.

One of the Loyalist shooters saw me, she was the same girl who'd smiled at Septer's Death. She looked to be my age, maybe younger... perhaps thirteen when I first saw her. Well, I didn't exactly know it was a her. She had a mask on. The Capitol side of The Rebellion was a lot more organized. They wore mask and armor, I wore makeshift hats and sweaters.

She stiffened when she saw me, even behind her mask I could fee anger.

She hissed when she saw me and shot at my face, I dodged but the bullet had skimmed my ear. The blood started flowing, the pain was unbearable. I stumbled a bit before she pulled out a long silver dagger. She rammed it into my body. I screeched as I fell. My body went numb ad the last thing I could remember was black.

ooooOoooo

I remember waking up in my room, there she stood proudly like she had just captured or killed a rare prize. My parents stood there, my mother looked dissapointed, my father looked like steam was going to come out of his ears.

My father scolded me until I was crying, the girl stood there looking smug as the tears trickled down. my mother gave me a lecture. I was still crying, though it wasn't as bad. It wasn't until the very end 'til I got the girls name.

 _Maya._

The name felt hideous on my tongue, even now as I'm simply recalling the memory, it still had a foul taste to it.

She then left. Telling me to prepare for executions.

Three days she had said. Three days.

I remember my parents leaving and crying myself to sleep. Because I stood up for what I believed in I was gong to die. I cried some more in the morning before wiping my tears away. I couldn't go outside anymore, my parents didn't trust me. Scared that I would alert my Rebel friends and have them killed.

I remember thinking how little they knew about me. I would never kill my own flesh and blood. I wasn't the monster they thought I was.

If I had been on the 'right' side then my parents would be happy, proud. Asking how many kills I had gotten or how I murdered that one rebel. It was disgusting.

Instead they now looked at me if I were some stranger. But when three days came I was preparing to die, but it never came. Apparently the war had reached District 1, we were already at war but it had just gotten worse, much worse. Districts 5 and 8 had come to attack us.

Other Districts had gone top 2 and 4. they were targeting the Loyalist Districts. My execution never came.

But a death did come, it just wasn't my own.

My friend Kenede had been gruesomely murdered by a loyalist. My beliefs were just enforced. I managed once again to slip away. Join the fight. It wasn't going great, even with our number being greater, we were still no match to their tech.

The rebellion lasted 5 years. I spent all 5 on the battlefield. Minus a few days of being locked away.

4 years passed until it finally ended, we had been beat.

My execution was planned for real this time.

The memory was so vivid, then again it had only happened a few days ago.

I was getting ready, or was being prepared. A black mask was tied around Jaron, Septer and Tony's mask had all been tied already. They had all exited the room as well. The mask had just touched the tip of my nose when it stopped.

I looked at the white Peacekeeper in front of me, he had his head turned.

There in the doorway stood my mother. She told me she would spare me. I was brought into the crowd and watched my three best friends get killed in front of my eyes. I blinked back tears.

Once the executions finally ended my mother turned to me, "Your father didn't come because he believes you were killed." I nodded my head wishing I had been. "I saved you, when I get home I will tell your father you are still living. You will never speak, look or even come near us."I nodded feebly once again. "You will keep your name, but will only address yourself to anyone as Midas."

I looked at her, "Why didn't you just let them kill me?"

She turned her head, her amber eyes blank as stones. Emotionless. they looked exactly like mine had when I found out I wasn't dying.

"I may be a monster, the war's done that to me, but I am still you mother." I watched her identical Amber eyes swell with tears, but she quickly pushed them down. She licked her lips and spoke once more, "I don't blame you for what you did, Midas, but I still don't agree with you." I could see her struggling to put out one more sentence, she opened and closed her mouth, liked she wanted to speak but wasn't sure if she should.

I gave her a reassuring smile.

"If you change your beliefs, Midas, you could-," her voice cracked in sadness,"-you could stay with us. me and your father"

I wanted to saw I would, but instead of nodding I shook my head. the action was out before I could take it back."I'm sorry." I croaked out.

"I know. Goodbye Midas." She caressed my cheek, a single tear finally penetrating her barrier.

With that she turned leaving me out in the open, no food no nothing. I watched her leave, golden hair identical to mine swishing gently in the wind. My hate for the capitol only grew stronger. They had torn my family away from me.

My beliefs just growing stronger. I remember that day so well, it's now permanently glued into my brain.

I shook my head, I wasn't going to cry in the middle of the street.

the words, _Bastard Rebel,_ were throw in my direction, accompanied by a banana peel. Too caught up in the past, I didn't have time to dodge. It landed on my chest, slowing gliding down to my thigh. i didn't responded, just sat there. I held in the tears and hoped nobody noticed my pain.

That was my story, quite depressing wasn't it? I just sat there banana peel sliding off my knee. The people still treated me no better, even though the war had ended.

The banana peel slid off my knee and fell to the ground landing with a _splosh_.

I looked at the far end of District 1, I didn't refer to it as my own anymore, and at the peak of the very powerful families who owned the giant mansions. The ones cutting through the clouds. I used to live there. I sighed in Nostalgia.

I liked to live in the past, it's the only thing that now kept me sane. My friends, my past family. I looked around the market until my eyes found a certain brunette girl, she looked about my age.

I guess _Maya_ still left a horrible taste in my mouth.

* * *

S **o Midas... He was so fun to write! I loved the interaction with Maya (D1F) who was submitted by the same person. So there's gonna be lots of Tension in D1 isn't there? Once last thing, the SYOT is almost full! I can't believe it. Thank you so much to everyone who submitted a tribute and may the odds be ever in your favor.**


	7. Buck Chandler, D10, Male, Age 13

Buck Chandler, District 10, Age 13, Male

"I'm going to the butcher's with Ralphie!" I gently shouted to my dad. I wanted to warn him, if not he might worry. I didn't want him to worry. He had always taught me to never say a cross word and to always consider others feelings, even if it means not considering your own.

Like he nevers does with his feelings for mom. She's dead now. A rebel. My dad had tried to keep us as far away from the war as possible. But that didn't stop me from finding out.

That she was killed by the Capitol.

My dad had kept us neutral, but she didn't believe the same. She called him a coward for staying neutral. Sadly, those had been their last words, their last words exchanged before her… death.

But I tried not to think about it, it was easier not too.

My dad answered shortly after with a simple, "Sure, sell the meat, stay out of trouble."

It was sad, dad, he past self erased by the war. Mom. duroc the kind sweet father of the past, still trying his best, but only a shell of the person he once was.

We owned a cattle farm, sold the meat to the Capitol, occasionally the butcher's down the street. They didn't always accept it. They had their own farm, but the girl was nice. I feel like sometimes she did it out of pity, other times I feel like she genuinely likes me.

In a friend way, which is one thing I don't have many of.

I called out a simple, "Love you." before grabbing part of a cow, which my father had killed this morning. I tried not to cringe.

I hated our job, killing animals. I mean killing anything wasn't right.

But, it was our only means of survival. I shouldered the bag, wishing we just sold the milk from the cows. It would be better that way. I shifted the weight of the bag on my shoulder and looked around for Ralphie.

"Ralphie?" I was starting to feel panicky. I turned around, looking for him. The war had made me paranoid that's for sure. I started thinking of the worst. Rebels had come and killed him. Loyalists had come and killed him. The cows had eaten him. The-

"BOO!" I visibly jumped. He came out cackling. I wanted to get angry, but controlled my temper. It had actually scared me, I could practically feel the tears start.

Ralphie immediately stopped. "Buck, I'm sorry." he noticed it wasn't helping. "Buc-" I cut him off, "no, it's cool Ralph."

He looked at me disbelievingly. "Really." I nodded. He shrugged, but obviously wasn't letting it go. I tried changing the subject by making a corny joke about the weight of the bag.

He tried to look serious but in the end ended up chuckling deeply to himself.

"That was so bad, it was almost funny."

I just shrugged, not wanting to agree or disagree. To stay… neutral.

His face then brightened. "Oh yeah!" He snapped his fingers, "I brought money for you know… whatever the Hell we want!" I gasped. Ralphie was a stable boy. He did not have money, and quite frankly neither did we, to buy whatever the… Hell we want.

Plus the whole District was running the meat gig, it was hard to sell more than everyone else, leaving our District quite poor.

Today, me and Ralphie, my best friend, a stable boy, had decided to try the butcher's.

"Do you think Haizea's gonna be there?" I looked up at Ralphie, raising an eyebrow in question. He just shrugged. His dark green eyes, looked and met my own brown ones. Ironically they looked like those of a cow. Funny right?

"Maybe, yah never know." I looked ahead, Ralphie staring quizzically at my head. I resisted the urge to look back. The bag on my shoulders heavier.

He knew that him and Haizea were my only friends. I wasn't too popular, anywhere. I hadn't taken part in the rebellion like everyone else. I was, according to them, a coward.

But I wasn't, my dad had just wanted to keep us safe. I was always kind to everyone and they still hate me. I sighed, at least the butcher's would be a refreshment.

They treated me, fairly over there. I could feel Ralphie's fixated on my back, I didn't care, a childish grin forming on my face.

I'm just glad I don't have to go to school, me and my dad just stay at the cattle farm, all day long, everyday of the week.

If I went to school it'll be completely miserable. But still I loved Ralphie, Haizea was a mystery, but still nice to talk to.

There was another person, to which I liked. Haizea's brother Mikel, and Mikel's girlfriend Dimitra. They were more good acquaintances though. I didn't see Mikel nearly as much as Haizea.

I could feel the stares on me, as I slowly changed from a skip to a slow trot. The stares felt like daggers on my back.

I looked around, Ralphie was slightly taller than I am, so I had to look up to meet his eyes. "Are we near the butcher's?" I looked at him disbelievingly. He looked at the bag of meat of my shoulder, trying not to look embarrassed. "After all this time you still don't know?"

He laughed and blushed a new shade of crimson. "Well, um…"

He looked around rapidly, "Whatever." He muttered, looking at his shoes, his face still slightly tinted red.

"We're almost there. Just turn left on Granny Smay's fruit stand, then a right at…" I recited the directions, which had been permanently etched into my mind. Hey, when you don't have much to do, memorizing is a great way to kill time.

We stopped on the way to check out a few fruit stands, food stands, thing stands. We had extra money, I was still curious as to where he got it from mind you. I saw an old lady begging for food, Ralphie had wandered off somewhere, but i couldn't stand seeing her like that. I took one last look at her before going to find Ralphie. Regretting leaving the woman behind. I shifted the heavy bag on my shoulders. Every step felt like daggers digging into my shoes. I felt horrible. I looked at Ralphie about to ask him about it when… well, when we reached the butcher's.

When we finally reached the butcher's I could hear the faint sound of meat being chopped to pieces.

I timidly opened the door, I heard the familiar bell jingle, and a smile adorned my face once more. I looked to my left, where Ralphie now stood, he was greedily looking at the meat. When he finally realized I was staring. He looked down and mumbled something I didn't quite catch.

I decided not to persist it, instead I turned to meet the face of a female.

It was not Haizea. It was Mikel's girlfriend Dimitra.

"Hey sweetie." She looked at me like a sort of lost little puppy. It was sweet and genuine. Something you don't see in a lot of people these days.

I smiled back brightly, showing off dimples. Ralphie was looking around everywhere but Dimitra. I smiled, it was cute.

"Is Haizea here?" I asked. Dimitra just gave me a lopsided smile and shook her head. "Sorry Buck, she's out shopping, I guess you could say." She ruffled my hair, like a puppy. I was touched, maybe I should call her a friend. I smiled back, her smile seemed to brighten. Then she noticed I had brang Ralphie.

Ralphie was tall for his age for sure,. Opposite to me, who was often mistaken for twelve. He had dark green eyes and long, messy brown hair. That seemed to fly in all directions. He had a square jaw, and sunken cheekbones. He was lean for sure, we were in a way complete opposites.

The rancher's daughter crinkled her nose at the sight of him. "Hey Ralphie." He looked her way, finally acknowledging her presence, "Dimitra." We all just stood there in silence.

"Can we sell this meat?" her sneer vanished and the loving grin pt back on her face. We were regulars here, if you couldn't tell by the welcome.

"Sure, Mikel's out back. He'll talk to you about prices." Her brown locks were squished into a tight bun, although some strands were now falling out. They circled her head in an eerie halo like shape.

"Thank you Dimitra." I smiled at her. I didn't know her exact age, but she seemed a lot older. I wanted to try and act mature, like dad always ask.

We went out back negotiated prices then came back outside with no cow, and more money than before. That reminded me, "Hey, where'd you get that spare change?" A guilty smile plastered quite clearly on his face. "Stole it." I gasped. Stealing was wrong. Is wrong. My best friend had just gone against the law.

"Oh,. don't look at me like that Buck. They didn't need it anyways. Stupid upperclassmen." I still shook my head in disbelief, "It's still not right." I voice came out as barely a whisper. "Yeah, well whatever. I'm gonna go spend MY money. Thanks by the way." He soon disappeared into the crowd.

I really felt like crying now, a single droplet of water rolled down my cheek. It cold against my warm cheeks. No one noticed though, no one ever does.

As i made my way back home I heard a shriek and fire of a gun. The begging old lady from before dropped dead at my feet. Peacekeepers surrounding the body.

"She, one that wasn't caught. Any other rebels may experience the same fate as hers.

"He shot her one last time, straight in neck. I winced, and another tear strolled down my cheek. I ran before a third bullet went off.

When I finally reached home, I was in tears. My face sticky from the past. And my father? Too busy in the fields to notice.

* * *

 **So that was Buck. he's areal sweetheart isn't he? Him and Ralphie though. Sorry I haven't been updating lately. I went on a trip to NYC (fantastic, you should go) and was very busy with end of the year schoolwork. So I haven't had the time to update as much. Sorry. :'( Anyways thanks as alway for teh reviews and everything. The SYOT is now officially closed. Thanks for all the submissions, all fantastic to read.**


	8. Oakley Axemoore, D7, Male, Age 16

_Oakley Axemoore, District 7, Age 16, Male_

"Hey, Oakley, can I talk with you?" My recently impregnated sister slowly opened the door, just enough so that her blonde locks could be seen through the crack. "Hey Acacia, and sure. What's up?" Even through the minuscule opening in our faded green door, I could see a grateful smile plastered onto her face.

She opened the door fully, she slowly made her way towards my bed, she then plopped herself onto it and turned to face me. I, who was currently at my desk, looking over our schoolwork. Unlike most Districts, our schools had remained open. I put downed my paper, which I was currently looking overt and turned to face her.

"So... What do you want to talk about?" My voice was welcoming, telling her to press on. "Life. And how all of a sudden mine got so horrible." I raised an eyebrow, urging her to go on, even though I already knew what she was going to say. She came to me about twice a week, complaining about everything. But I don't blame her, practically my whole family did so too.

I just wish that sometimes I could talk to them about _my_ problems, instead of theirs.

"Pregnancy, the father being dead," I know all about that. I was the one who had to break the news to her. He was killed at the hands of a loyalist, he was somewhere, helping the rebel cause, now he's nowhere. His baby, still in the stomach of my older sister.

"War, school, dad, mom, every single Damn thing!"She started screaming the last part. Acacia was never the patient type, always _focused_ on the present. Not Future. She wasn't the brightest, she was the blonde bimbo type if anything. But she was my sister, I had to care for her. Even though she could never properly care for me.

"I know-" I started nodding his head at her words. Pretending as if I hadn't heard them thousands of times before.

"No! You couldn't possibly know!" This was new. I winced slightly at her sound level."You're Oakley the perfect, sweet ,smart, little boy! YOU'VE never been called a hoe or slut behind your back, never had to loose someone you love! Because you're Oakley! And I hate you for it!"

She started crying into her palms on his bed. The majority of the tears were caught in her small, graceful hands, but the rest fell and stained my pure white bed sheets.

I got up from my desk, and tried to show that her words didn't affect me. But of course, deep down they reall, really did. I tried not to show how broken I was on the inside when I put my rough and calloused hand on her back. I tried to control my anger, because I did understand it. I understand it all. But nobody seems to care about me, it's only them. Always them.

I tell her that she is right. I don't know real pain like she has felt. That I don't understand anything that she's going through. She calls me perfect, but she doesn't know how messed up and screwed up in the head I really am.

She thinks that I was calm and emotionless as I told her about the death of her husband, would be father of her child. She though I hadnt known him enough to cry, to actually care. But what she doesn't know is the hours leading up to actually telling her.

When my family and I first heard the news, they, of course, all started crying, weeping, crying out their sorrows. None of them looked at me. They were all too busy themselves. If they had looked they'd see that I wasn't even with them anymore. But of course, they never noticed.

They never noticed how sometimes I would come to dinner bleary eyed and sniffling softly. They never noticed how maybe I also had a life, besides just helping them with their problems. The war hadn't just changed them, it had also greatly changed me. Yet, none of the, seemed to be able to see that. For a family as close as the rest of the District made us out to be, they really knew nothing about me.

I had run to my room, slamming the green door shit. Slumped to the ground, and lay there emotionless. I wanted to cry, my whole body was shaking in fear and regret. And that was the first time the war actually felt... real. That was when I broke.

Sure I was never quite right in the head, with my family, friends, peers always looking up to me, expecting me to be calm in the worst situations, and always have a plan in places where every one else had failed. It was nice, but horrible at the same time.

They couldn't just expect me to solve everything. I was the go to guy to complain to. But I couldn't go to anyone, even my best friend wouldn't work. My problems were now beyond they help of some high schooler. What I needed was a full on therapist. I was so messed up, my problems were just getting to me.

They didn't even care about me. They all cared about how their lives were so bad, yet they never even considered mine. I kept it inside, trying not to show it hurt. But, I think there's a quote for that. "Every time you hold on tears your drowning your heart." That's the one. I may not have been so messed up before the war, but I sure was now. And I couldn't just cry or complain or anything! Because everyone looked up to me for everything! They couldn't even solve their own stupid problems! And they all though he was the perfect little boy who'd never experienced pain in his life! None of the understand anything!

My mom? She didn't ever do anything! Ever! She was in bed and she was never get back up again, but she sure as Hell wasn't dead. My dad? Him? I barely even know the guy! He's distant, but do not give me one of those pity looks.

My sister, Acacia? I'm pretty sure you get her by now. She's twenty-two? Bonus fact, I guess. Oldest in the family, even though she acted the most premature. Next? My other sister Beecher! Why, she was bullied in school. Those Damn bullies made my sister suicidal for Gods sake! I made sure to put a stop to that. Came to me, on average three times a week for counselling. She was fourteen, but broken beyond repair. She was the only one who inherited my mother's hair, that's something, right?

Linden, oh sweet baby Linden. Sure he was only ten, but he was so young. I longed for that ignorance. He can't even remeber the war, rebellion. I am jealous, after everything you'd think I'd at least be allowed something for my troubles. Now, just because he's young doesn't mean he doesn't have problems. Because he sure as Heck does! And who does he go to for guidance! That's right! Me!

Always me! Why not someone, anyone else. I think I'm going crazy. So, so crazy.

Now Laurel, her? She was only four, yet she already made it quite clear she will only follow around Acacia and Beecher. She's smart, unlike the rest of our family, to not follow or look up to me. Despite what everyone says, I'm not someone you want to look up to. I'm way too messed up for that. Family is such a dull word to me now. It's sad, knowing how it used to mean so much.

I remeber the tears prickling my eyes, wanting so badly to fall. Yet, I couldn't let them.

I was the golden boy of our family. Smart, popular, athletic, selfless. I couldn't cry, I had to be the one who stays strong. In the end I volunteered to tell Acacia. They al looked at me with the same look, he boy who just appeared and just solved their problem. They all smiled, telling me how great I was. But they were all empty words.

Because even my own family knew absolutely nothing about me. And in the end, they'd lose their golden boy.

We used to get along great, now I sought refuge with my anger by smashing walls and bringing down buildings. Not literally. I looked at Acacia, I sighed, when had everything become so messed up? The war, it was all the Capitol's fault.

Isn't it funny? How everything leads back to the Capitol? I swear to God, I will bring them down. I don't care if the war's over. To me, it has just began. Because broken people, are sometimes the most beautiful.

I used to love my family, but as of late, a slight tugging in my gut made me want to hurl. I think I, Oakley Axemoore, was officially broken.

"I need to go to work, Acacia." She looked up at me, her face no longer as beautiful as it had been. her nose was scrunched up, her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a rat's nest. You could now actually see the little lump of a baby, sitting nicely on her abdomen.

Why she chose to have a baby right after the war, or well, she had had it during the war, was ever a good idea.

"Ok, I know and understand." I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face. Like she would ever understand. I smiled once more as she stepped outside, me trailing a little behind. I saw her step into her room. And then I left for work.

My best friend was standing there. She. Looked. Pissed.

"What in the name of God? Took you so long, to leave your best friend stranded at work for more than fifteen flipping minutes, and just show up here all cheeky and grinny?! I mean come on! You're so Damn annoying I wished you would wipe that smirk off your face!" That ladies and gentleman, was my best friend Birch.

She was awesome.

* * *

 **Okay, first off. I am really sorry for not updating sooner. I, well I was just experiencing some dufficulties with a character. So, anyways sorry for the wait, here's Oakley. Yeah, kind of a little dark there, Oak. Anyways next up, is Sparrow I believe.**


	9. Sparrow Blackmore, D11, Female, Age 18

_Sparrow Blackmore, District 11, Age 18, Female_

"Going to work, Sage!" I hollered to my best friend, hoping she would be OK while I was gone. See Sage was blind, she was also my best friend. Now, listen we had both been rebels, both of our families had been killed. Now, all I was doing was keeping us alive. I was working in the fields, agriculture, while Sage stayed home.

Ugh. Is it wrong for me to say that I hate my District? It's just that, well security here is immensely high, although I should expect that. District 11 had been, after all, the second District to join the rebellion. Which is why, you found no one here with any respect for the Capitol, and I would tell them that too.

If it wouldn't get me and Sage killed, because that girl? She deserved way better than all this. How she put up with me was a mystery. And in order for me to achieve that, I need to work. And in District 11 there's only really one way to work.

Agriculture. I would much rather be throwing knives or hacking wood with an axe than _agriculture._ Man, the other District were lucky. We were stuck with, pretty much, super gardening.

"What did you say about gardening?" Oh, had I said that out loud? Meh, it was just Sage. I turned and saw a head poke out from behind the door. An eyebrow raised in question. A smirk plastered on her face.

I rolled my eyes, knowing she couldn't see me. Did that bother me? Yes, it did, sometimes. I mean at least this way I knew her friendship was genuine. No judging off looks or appearances, because you know.

But, weirdly enough, it always made me self-conscious. For example, if she wasn't blind, would she still have befriended me? If she wasn't blind, would her whole family still have been killed by war? No. I promised myself I wouldn't ever speak of it again. Yet, you could still tell that the war wasn't completely over. Not in the sense we still had any hope, just the fact that we were be going to get punishments. Severe punishments, the war was over, but the consiquences sure as Hell weren't.

And trust me, there were worst things then death. Like, I don't know, really just spit-balling here but, how about finding your whole family dead at age, maybe say 11, maybe 12? Now that was bad, mentally scaring, if you asked me.

Because I knew all about it. In fact you could call me an expert in that manner. See I was just a little ten year old girl, my skin wasn't quite as tan as it is now, from all the war and running, my skin had now gone from to usual mocha tone, to a crisp burnt colouring, back then it was smooth and lighter. My face also softer, happier. And I definitely hugged and did normal things a lot more.

Because back the I didn't cuss until my roommates ears bled.

I was an eleven year old in the middle of a war, and I didn't notice. A. Thing.

I was so stupidly oblivious, that it makes my heart ache. Sure, I knew something was wrong, but I never commented on it. I was little, and even though my parents were rebels in the end, died as rebels too, they tried keeping me safe and away from al the danger.

But in all of it, they forget to protect themselves. One day, they said they were going somewhere, I now know hey were probably gone with some rebel buddies, to take on the loyalist perhaps. I hate the Loyalist, makes me want to tear them limb from limb actually, because they friggin killed my parents. And my parents were _everything to me_.

So off they went, they had told me to stay hidden, had shown me a place to stay, away from everything else. That means the fighting, the war, but of course, I didn't know that at the time.

The next Morning I woke up, sat, waiting for my parents, before I got impatient. When I finally found them, it makes me wish that I had just stayed in my little safe haven. I saw both my parents dead. Hanging by their necks, lead wrapped tightly around the flesh in between the chest and head.

I had ran, ran so far, never stopping, just wanting to get away from... Whatever that was. I remember years prickling my eyes. I few may have even fallen. But I can't even remember anymore.

I knew people yelled at the "little hooligan on the run" and stared and a few tried shooting at me, but I was a small target, moving at very fast rates. Most of the shots missed, the ones that did hit? Well. Now I have the scars for the street cred.

I regret such a cowardly move. Without it, I wouldn't have hated cowardice and anything but bluntness so eargerly. But, it helped create who I am today, so at least I owe my past self something at least. But I'm a more, look to the future kind of girl. If I hadn't run, I wouldn't have so openly despised any form of cowardice as strongly as I do now. Yay?

I looked at Sage. Her eyes grey, one looking behind me, the other looking slightly more to the left. Her hair fall uselessly into her eyes, but of course she can't see them.

Sometimes it made me wish she could see my tall slender appearance. My big, brown chocolate eyes. My long lashes, and hairstyle that most would mistake for an Afro. My dark mocha skin, I wish she could see it.

"Does it bother you that you don't know what I look like?" I could hear her chuckle before shaking her head calmly, a smile plastered on her face. "Now, why, in the name of the Heavens care what you look like?"

And I intelligently replied with a, "Meh." The last thing I heard on my way to work way the muffled giggles of my blind best friend Sage. And stupidly, I couldn't help but smile.

ooooOoooo

"Keep going, don't stop now! Or the president'll have your heads by tonight!" I winced at the peacekeepers, rustling us to keep in line, to keep working. One stepped dangerously close to my body, his white uniform slightly stained from the dirt of our fields, I tensed, wanting to punch him the face for what he supported. That had gotten my family killed, and it was people like him who were to blame.

I hated it, I never used to have to work, but of course the war made sure to put a stop to that. Now, instead of happily spending my days doing whatever the Hell I used to do before the rebellion, I was working my butt off for the minimum wage. Sage wanted to help, but she was blind and no matter the tough exterior I showed to most, I truly did care for her.

It didn't that our fields were absolutely trashed from the war. Even if most of our dirt was once again hard as rock and burnt, we still had to complete our super gardening. I hurriedly started picking the fruits from the tree above me when once agin a peacekeeper came near me. He brushed into me, completely his fault, and I dropped my basket of apples and peaches.

"Watch where you're going." And I immediately regretted all my life choices. My hand found my mouth and I stood there, speechless. I tried not to whimper in fear, but I was scared.

I had just said that to a peacekeepers! I didn't need to remove his helmet to see that he was angry. Then worst came to worst. He reached at his belt, suddenly a whip was in his hand.

His raised it, brought it down upon me, I screamed as it made contact. It sting like Hell. I fell to my knees immediately, clutching my burning face. My hand was shaking as I removed it from my face. Blood now coating my fingers.

I shakily tried getting up again, despite my shaking hands and knees wanting desperately to buckle underneath me. He just whipped my again, this s time, it hit my neck. I screeched as I hit the hard ground once more. The pain was horrible, my cheek still stung like crazy and I could feel it starting to swell.

I screached in pain. I looked, no one was trying to help me. But I didn't blame them, they couldn't unless they wanted to be whipped too. I did see a little boy out of the corner of my eye graciously take a step towards me, before his mother pulled him back, they exchanged a few words, before going back to work.

I couldn't see them anymore, my swelling blocking the view.

I would most likely develop a black eye in time. As for my neck, it was a bloody mess. It soaked into my clear white shirt, which had already been stained with dirt and grass stains. Now it was also coated in blood.

I lay there on the ground. A single tear finding its way onto my face, it slides slowly down my face, mixing with the blood, then into the ground. I don't try getting up again, hoping to do that when he leaves.

My whole body aches, my cheek and neck still stinging. "Hope you'll learn to control your mouth next time, eh missy?"

I looked up, my eyes glazed over, I was trying not to quiver, instead I bit the inside of my mouth in order to keep a straight face. another peacekeeper approached us, "Maybe if you get lucky she'll get reaped, then none of us will ever have to worry about her mouth again."

Reaped? What on earth were they talking on about? Nevermind, as they both started walking away, I slowly made it back onto my feet. I numbly reached for my basket, my body still aching, my face and neck still stinging. Killing me. But I couldn't stop, I honestly liked believing that if you fall, you should always try to get back up again. No matter how messed up your situation is.

I kept picking fruits, hoping that I would finally be able to go home in... About seven hours. I sighed, toady was going to be a long work day. I tried ignoring the excruciating pain on the left side of my body, and just kept on working. No matter how hard I desperately wanted to cry in that moment.

But I just kept working. And it wasn't until I fainted once reaching home, that I realized just how pointless life is. The only reason I was still going was Sage.

Because Sage, deserved so much more than what I had to offer.

* * *

 **So, Sparrow? I like her attitude that's for sure. Listen from now on I'll try and update more frequently. If possible, I know we have a lot of tributes left, but without further ado, next up will be Velkan!**


	10. Rosemary Finch, D8, Female, Age 15

_Rosemary Isolde Finch, District 8, Female, Age 15_

"The war's over, why do we need to keep making these?" I gestured to the white strand of fabric before me, what would soon become a peacekeeper's outfit. During the war, my family and I had assisted the Capitol by making peacekeeper uniforms, I had assumed that after the war, our efforts would no longer be needed.

Apparently, I assumed wrong. I turned to the woman standing beside me. Her name was Ella, we haven't really conversed much, but at the moment she's the sole form of entertainment in the building. "I don't know Rose, but really I don't think the war's ever over."

I quirked an eyebrow at that, but still continued on my task. She did the same, at the moment she was threading her needle through the fabric sewing it together with another. I, at the moment, was measuring a long piece of white for what was going to be the arms.

"Go on." I urged her. She took a deep breath before stopping her sewing and tuning to fully face me. I did the same, crossing my arms, I raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Well, is the war ever really over? Sure, we won, but did we really? How many lives were lost in that war, how many more are to come? Listen, Rose, I lost my best friend in that war. And we're still treated like scum! Our whole district is divided between rebel and loyalist. Please Rose, think about it."

I just stared, thinking, "Ella-" I started, but a harsh whisper threw me off guard. "Just go back to sewing, Rose." Normally I would get mad, but this was Ella. And I was in work, surely it would be public punishments for the both of us. I dropped the measuring tape, and instead started on the cutting of said fabric. Grabbing a pair of scissors.

 _1\. 2. 3. 4..._

I started counting, it helped with my anger. Well, I prefer the word, feisty personality. But, I've definitely been working on it. Last time I lashed at work, well, let's just say that I still have the scars to prove it. I was thinking. About Ella's words, as crazy as they were, it made me think.

I mean, we all k ow that Ella lost her best friend in the war, but imagine if that was my best friend. I sure wouldn't be as calm as Ella was now, and maybe that was my downfall. To be honest, if my best friend had died, I'm pretty sure I would be dead with her.

Just instead of being killed by the rebels like her, it would have been public execution for me. Not something I want.

" _Shit!"_

I stared down at my now bleeding hand, I looked at the scissors in my other hand, now stained with blood. Yes kids, this is what happens when you're too caught up in thought than to care about the scissors you could potentially harm yourself with.

Groaning, I stared at my peacekeeper's outfit. Instead of the usual white, it was now stained red. Groaning once more, a little bit of whining along the way, I trashed it. "Great. Now I'm gonna have to start all over again. If it weren't for Ella-"

"Rose?"

With a forced smile on my face I turned. "Ella?"

 _1\. 2. 3. 4..._

"Never mind." She turned back to her uniform, not before handing me a fresh strip of white fabric. "Here, I had leftovers." "Thanks." I barely mumbled my thanks before taking the white from her hand. I stared at it before sighing, and I started measuring once more.

ooooOoooo

"I'm home." I call out, hoping someone will be home. With the whole family working, it's almost guaranteed that you'll come here me to an empty house. But it seems like today is not that day, "Hey!" I turned to see my younger sister, Petra, poke her head out of the kitchen. The white painted walls now flaking and peeling, some bits falling off as her bubbly head disappears behind the kitchen door once more.

Seconds later, she emerges with another girl on tow. Her twin, Coraline. "Are mom and dad home?" They both shake their heads. Dirty blonde hair, quite like mine, swaying as they do. My big, green-grey eyes soften as I watch my thirteen year old sisters, struggle to not show their disappointment.

"How 'bout, Addie?" My other sister Addie, short for Adeline, was fifteen. Unlike both I and the twins, she had brown, slightly auburn hair, but we all share the eyes. Inherited from our father.

Again, my two little sisters, shook their heads. I sighed, "It's fine. Not your fault that their still at work." I saw the sad expression on their face still. Ruffling Oetra's hair, Iw lakes into the kitchen, the twins in tow. "How about we make dinner for everyone, sounds good?"

"Yeah." Agreed Coraline. "Sure." Responded Petra. I clasped my hands together. "Then it is settled. What are we making?" I started looking through cabinets, for things that are still edible. " Meh." Is probably the best answer I received.

"Okay." Rubbing my temple, "Stew it is."

And with that, our stew was cooking in no time. And by that I mean, a good few minutes, which is why I let my baby sisters have fun playing chef, instead of plaguing them on where our family may be.

"Where's the herbs?" I turned towards my left, where Cora was currently sticking her head into a brown cupboard, looking madly for food. While Petra did the same on the other side, her cabinet though, was green. "Yeah," Agreed Petra, this time from her right, "Where is everything?"

"Mom and I were suppose to go buy everything tonight actually." I whispered, my doubts resurfacing as to why nobody was home yet. Hopefully the horrid images my mind was creating were very far the actual thing. I tried not to show my fear or worry, as I continued chopping some vegetables for the soup. I hid my face from both of them, hoping that they were too young to be able to read my expression.

"Speaking of which-" I knew they were going to ask about where everyone was. I couldn't do that to them. Panicking and quickly thinking on the spot resulted in an answer. or more specific, a reason to cut Petra off. Who's head was now outside of the cabinet and eyeing her wearily.

"Here, how 'bout I go buy them now?" I stated, putting down my knife. Rushing out of the kitchen. Not giving either twin protest. I was already in a bad mood and they knew not to challenge my temper, even if it had gotten slightly better.

Without waiting for a response, I grabbed a pouch of money, what mom and I were going to use to go food shopping around the different stalls and shops. "Bye, keep doing what you can while I go get the food!" I think I heard an, "I love you, bye!" From which twin, I have no idea. I dashed out the door, the cold breeze hitting me hard. I shivered, but wasn't going to dwell on it now.

I simply rubbed my upper arm, in annoyance, and kept walking. The market place of District 8, was fairly close to our home. I gripped the pouch, which I had rested in my pocket, making sure it hadn't gone.

My black tank-top was definitely not warm enough for today, which is fairly weird, considering it is the middle of summer. I started hurrying when the first shop of the market place caught my eye. Our District was mostly, grey, bland and industrial. The market place was the only exception. It may not have been the most colorful sight, but compared to the bland, grey District, it was a sight for sore eyes.

I could smell the warm bread coming from the shops. The fresh fruits and vegetables looked practically glowing, when compared to the sight around it. I bumped into a lady at one point, I may have snapped at her, earning a shoe on my foot. And myself counting to at least twenty. It turned out the shopkeeper in one of the shops wouldn't accept my money. Earning him a piece of my mind, and earning a couple hundred screams for holding up the line. Everything went wrong, although I had managed to score a good haul.

 _1\. 2. 3. 4..._

It wasn't until on my way home did things go horribly wrong. I couldn't seem to squish my way through a crowd of people. All huddled around a stage. Annoyed, I elbowed my way to the front, in order to see what was going on. I gasped and almost dropped my groceries. There on the stage was none other than Addie herself. She was bruised, bloodied and had a black mask over her face. But I knew it was her. The clothing for one was a sure give-away.

"Addie." I whispered. I started shaking, with anger, fear, realization. I was trembling. My hands shaking. There she stood on the stage, a gun poised over her head. Two peacekeepers stood over her. One of them pushed her to the ground, she fell to her knees. A horrifying cry echoing as she fell. My heart stopped. Some of her auburn hair falling from its mask as the sudden motion carried her forward. The gun was cocked, and was now mere inches away from her temple. The whole market place was silent. And so was I.

"This girl, tried to hurt me, while she was working in a factory for making dresses and formal wear," The guard who had pushed her down was speaking. "Seems she was fed up with 'the Capitol's little games'. Her words folks not mine. Seems, she was tired, sick, insulted by us. Well, now look where she is. As good as dead. Or, will be in a matter of seconds. This girl, is nothing more than a filthy little traitor. Telling us she was a loyalist, before brutally turning her back on us forever. Well, now she'll be able to think about her choice... forever." I turned, a sob hitched in my throat as I heard the gunshot. The sound of her body hitting the cold wood beneath her. I wouldn't bear to look. I wouldn't make a sound. I felt a tear roll down my cheek, down to my chin, and finally falling onto the brown soil below me.

I finally turned, brave enough to look at the dead body of my sister. What I saw was horrifying. Her body was slumped over, as if she were sleeping with both hands on her back. She looked so peaceful, even if her eyes couldn't be seen. She may as well have been sleeping. But I knew that if I went up to feel for a pulse, all I would feel was the cold, smooth skin of my sisters corpse. She would be ice cold, and her wrist would be silent.

It shouldn't have surprised me too much, Addie was always talking about the Capitol, I just never knew she'd take it as far as this. i thought it was all talk and no play. But I guess I was proven wrong. I turned again, not bearing to look for any longer.I turned and ran, all the way back home. Pushing my fellow citizens of District 8 out of the way, I was still carrying the groceries. The fruit and herbs madly flying around as I raced back home. I wouldn't tell my sisters anything.

They were too young, too innocent, and as their big sister i needed to protect them. Like I should have done for Addie. The tears were dry and stuck to my face, in memory of Adeline. And for the first time in my life, I understood Ella endless babbling about how she felt after being deprived from her best friend. Empty and hollow.

But the difference between the two of them is that Rosemary wanted revenge. Ella didn't.

 _1\. 2. 3. 4. 5..._

* * *

 **So Rosemary was fun, I was suppose to write Velkan, but he was hard. So you guys get Rosemary, who I would have done after Velkan, but instead came before. So, sorry.**


	11. Christian Powers, D5, Male, Age 14

_Christian Powers, District 5, Male, Age 14_

"What are you making now, little bro?" I looked up, only to see the face of my older brother, Andrew, peering down at me. His face mere inches from mine. Awkwardly I shuffled away from my current position. The floor isn't very comfortable as I slowly skid along it, my butt hits something pointy, I don't shriek. But it sure scared the crap out of me when my leg touched the cold metal.

I hear his laughter, immediately I turn around and glare at him. "Seriously? I'm making something, not quite sure what it is yet, but I'll get there." I say with a shrug of the shoulders. He rolls his eyes at me, but it doesn't stop me from seeing the smile slowly creep onto his face.

I lived what you would call, the easy life. While others were currently starving away, possibly already dead, I was currently in our mansion, tinkering with metals for pure pleasure. My mother had just recently been appointed mayor of District 5. Which definitely brought with it many envious souls.

But it wasn't all easy. My dad was dead. Died in the rebellion. It was a bombing. I was younger then, but the memory was still fresh. He said he was going to work, one of the many factories that littered the District, he said he just needed to check something then he'd be back. It would only take a minute. We waited, Andrew, my mom and I. He didn't come, perhaps he had taken a detour and was buying a treat for us on his way home or something. That's what andrew had told me, a trick he used only to reassure me.

Out of boredom, I turned on the T.V. The news of the bombing had struck, and it was on my TV. I hadn't said anything, instead I just watched, and watched and watched. Too frozen to move my mouth to call out for my family. When Andrew finally came downstairs for a snack, he had dropped his plate upon seeing what I was watching. my mother had cried, my brother had tried to keep it together. And I had been frozen. He used to tinker with me all the time, I always thought that maybe I was his favorite. Mom's too. While I was exactly how they pictured a perfect son, Andrew was quite the opposite. Now at age nineteen, he's turned it down slightly. While Andrew never really got my fascination, dad certainly did. I smiled, remembering. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"What're you smiling about?" I look at his red hair, not unlike mine, which was currently resting messily on his head in a messy bed-head. While I will always prefer a nice clean cut, he couldn't care less. My brother is five years older than me, and probably the best friend I've ever had.

Excluding Luke Magnus. We were simply thrown together at lunch one day, talked about our mutual love for tinkering, devices and metal working, we were fast friends. We weren't exactly social, quite the opposite really. He was a year older than me, we didn't have any classes together, which made school lonely, to say the least.

My mother had drilled it into my head about always being prim, proper, smart. And so I was. I was in fact extremely prim, when it came to anything and everything. My hair, always combed to perfection. Clothes always neat never wrinkled.

I was indeed very proper. My desk at home was never messy, unless you count the odd piece of metal lying around. Or maybe that one screw I never quite picked up. My gizmos and gadgets littered my room yes. But to me it wasn't exactly a mess. It was simply, _me._

I was also e trembly intelligent, something which vastly helped with my strange hobby. Of tinkering and metal making, something I liked to think I inherited from my father. My mother was just that way, thinking everything had to be perfect.

I think I turned out the way I did because my mother drilled it all into my head at such a young age. My brother was never hard working, the opposite of me, my mother's image of a model son, instead taking his own path instead of the one our mom had given my mother was mayor, she was still very important, working for the government.

"Christian?" A deep voice broke My train of thoughts, I blinked twice before comb back down to earth. My stream of images and thoughts pooping like a balloon. "Sorry, zoned out." Andrew cracked a grin at this, I smiled back. My grey-blue eyes crinkling around the edges.

"I was asking if you wanted to show me what you're making." I looked down at my hands, inside my palms were two little metal blobs. One of them had little pieces of metal sticking out the sides, the other was more cube than circle anyways.

"Erm, not much to look at." I said, finally standing up I order to be able to accomplish my throw. I was aiming for the basket on the far side of my room. I threw the cube, it hit the target, but unfortunately bounced off. I heard Andrew laugh. "Nice throw there, buddy." Groaning, I walked over, grabbed it, and placed it on my desk next to a Pinwheel like invention, which I had deposited of two days ago.

I took the other blob of metal, the one with pieces sticking out of all sides, switched in from my right hand to my left, ready to throw. But before I could a voice interrupted me, for the second time that day.

"Give me that, I'll show you how a real man throws." He had started rolling up his sleeves, revealing the burn mark he had received not too days ago when he had tried to cook. I felt my face break into grin at the thought.

"Real man? You're barely a preteen girl." Glaring at me, he snatched my blog of metal and prepared to throw. "Watch and learn, little bro." He did some sort of stretch with his arm for theatrics. Took a deep breath inwards and... He missed. "Real man huh? I bet our mom can throw better than that." I started laughing as his face went red. I turned my head to look at the pictures on my wall. Some of me and Luke, one or two family photos, but most contained in fact myself and Andrew. I smiled.

"Shut up." I heard the voice of Andrew say from next to me. I simply laughed harder. It was days like these where I was glad to be the mayor's son. Easy life. I looked over at him. His eyes were sparkling mischievously. My smile instantly vanished, a look of horror replacing it. That was never good, ever. My first initial thought was quite simply, _Shit._

Andrew jumped, and had tackled me to the ground _._ For a few seconds, the only thing I could see was the plaid, blue and black shirt of Andrew. Then, from the coprner of my right eye, I saw light. Before I screeched so loudly that I'm pretty sure the neighbors heard it. I had just felt a painful stab to my side.

Instead of punching or anything of that sort. Andrew had tickled me. "S-Stop! It-t tic-ckles!" I managed out in between laughs. "That's the point, doofus!" Despite myself I rolled my eyes as I laughed. I wanted to glare so badly, but I quite frankly, couldn't. He kept going, once though, I managed to flip him onto his back, to try and tickle him. But it failed. He was much stronger than I am. My wiry build cannot outmaneuver his jock like physique. His red bed head, flew madly around his face, becoming messier by the second. When my torture finally ended I was left on the ground, mortified. My brother, Andrew, had left me there, and was now currently dusting himself off. A smug smile on his features. I quickly scrambled upwards, tumbling and tripping over myself a few times on the way. My brother just stood there, a very smug expression on his face.

I must've looked like a tomato by the time I came up. Wheezing, I sent him a venomous look, that was suppose to be scary, but it must've not been for him because he _friggin'_ laughed. Laughed at my pains!

"You've just rid me of my masculinity! Not cool, bro!" I glared at him. A venomous glare, all he did was chuckle. "Like you had any to begin with."He said, making his way to the door frame. I scowled at him. Andrew simply flashed me a grin, before walking out the door. "I gots homework. Me needs to do." He gave me a half-assed salute. I laughed and nodded, he sent another crooked grin my way before shutting the blue door behind him.

Making the picture frame next to it, rattle slightly. I sighed, falling backwards onto my bed. "Stupid Andrew." but if anyone were there in that moment, you would see that i most likely did not mean these words, considering a second later, a smile wormed its way onto my face. Normally, my blue-grey eyes are calculating, but never to Andrew, to him I guess I'll always be his little bro. And somehow that makes me happy.

Easy Life.

People have already started rumors that my mother'll be the best Mayor we've ever had. That makes me happy, yes. But, to be honest sometimes I wish mum wasn't the mayor or some government official. I know it's selfish, but sometimes I just wanna be normal. Not the kid with freakishly high grades, or the mayor's son. Normal.

To be honest Luke and I are only friends because technically society threw us together. The two social outcast, both desperately in need of a friend, find comfort in each other. I know that without this position, I'd most likely be dead, like Luke's brother, like my dad. Which is exactly why it's so selfish to wish for a different life. Because there are kids who'd kill for my life.

Easy Life.

I haven't even seen Luke in forever, he's been too busy with his family. He was forced to take up a part time job at one of the factories, with his brother gone, and father already dead before the rebellion, his family had no one left. so as the oldest, they all naturally turned to Luke. His mother pregnant with another child, she could'n't work, no matter how much it killed her. I had tried on numerous occasions, to offer Luke money, or anything, food maybe, but he refuses.

The war's changed us all, I haven't seen Luke in days. Normally we'd be in my room, crafting something together maybe. I sighed. My life still seemed better than most. I was a selfish, selfish Loyalist. And I was aware of it too, wishing for a different life when most would kill to have yours? Selfish.

Easy Life.

Easy Life.

Easy life.

* * *

 **Easy Life. Here's Christian. Cool, right? I think so. But unlike Maya, the power doesn't seem to have gone to his head.**


	12. Zelda Knightly, D3, Female, Age 16

_Zelda Knightly, District 3, Female, Age 16_

"Freak." A slightly overweight man wearing a suit is looking at me from his place almost two metres to my left. He hisses his words to me. Venom clearly laced through them. I shrink and avert my gaze away from him. I continue walking, I hear him mutter something else. I try to forget about that part though.

I continue walking, hurrying my pace as to try and forget. I close my eyes too, hoping it will not only black my view but my hearing as well. I know it's futile but it reassures me in the oddest ways. In my rush, I nearly bump into a young blond haired man. No older than twenty, wearing almost all black. "Watch where you're going, Bitch." I nod before running off in the other direction. Tears prickling my eyes. I hear another voice. This one much more high pitched.

"Weirdo." I see a little boy no more than ten look up to me and whisper it. I continue walking, hurrying my pace. I don't want acknowledge him. It'll only make it worse. "Hey Freak! My son was talking to you!" I hurry off before the boy's mother can make another remark. I pretend that I didn't hear her. Or her son.

I stop in front of a shop when I voice behind me speaks. "What the Hell are you doing here, Freak? The sign clearly says no animals." I don't even bother looking at who spoke. I Turn around and brisk right past them.

These are the words I hear as I wander aimlessly through my District. Hoping for a breath of fresh air. A breath of fresh air that doesn't involve insults trailing me as if I were on a leash. But the Wirds never gave in. No matter how long it's been, the Wirds don't stop. I was twelve when they started. Et continued on through the War even, and our District had to have been the most rebellious one of all. We had been relentless. In our view Rebelswere right. We treated each other well. Except for me, because even in the midst of war. The Wirds followed me.

The words always followed me.

I sigh, I had quit school for just this reason. Words. All they were were words. Yet, they convinced me to throw my entire future away. Then again, I most likely would have become suicidal if I stayed there any longer. So my future was doomed either way because of Words. I wasn't crazy, just cynical. Depressed. Vulnerable.

I had always been kind. To everyone. But then Words had to do the opposite to me.

Words. That's all they were weren't they? But they felt like so much more. To be honest the whole District hates me, minus the exception of my step-brother and mom. My real dad's dead. My step-dad, new dad, quite honestly only tolerates me.

And my step-sister's one of the main reasons, why if I had stayed in school, I would have most likely become suicidal. She was the one who started the insults, believe it or not. At first they were simple comments, maybe that my shirt didn't go with my pants. Little things. I would be necker, self-conscious. I would cast my head downwards to avoid embarassement. That was before she told the whole school nasty things. Nasty things concerning me.

It was different that day. I walked into to school, just a helpless twelve year old. The students started whispering. That was when I got my first real taste of Words. Nasty, mean, horrible Words. I would go to my class, the words, idiot, freak, weirdo etched into my pure white desk. I didn't know what was going I heard the Words. I over books, they would help me escape. I would escape the Words and replace them with new ones. Nice ones. Words that were for once on my side.

Ironically I was reading when I heard what Jennifer had told everyone. What words she had used exactly. I pretended not to care. I would feel the tears prickling m eyes. At lunch though, Dominik joined me. My step-brother. and he helped fend off the Words. The Words.

All just rumours too. Lies. I was already an outcast among my fellow students. I had no friends, not even one. This just gave them even more reason to avoid me like the plague. I was already ridiculed for not inheriting anything of my mother's. She was computer smart. Technologically smart. But all that came to an end when she remarried when I was seven to Jade, my newfound father.

So, everyone expected me to carry it on. But I couldn't. I was failing in moSt of my classes already. Add on the pressure and I was gone. They whispered about the dumb girl born to a genius. I would cry myself to sleep. Seemed like I couldn't go a day without the words trailing me. Seemed like I couldn't go a day without being laughed at, pranked, bullied, beat up even. They whispered, talked, laughed, snickered.

My spoiled brat of a sister just made that ten times worse. Jennifer. I'm honest to goodness so glad my step-brother was absolutely nothing like her. Dominick was actually nice around me. Happy. Something I realized, isn't an emotion expressed around me a lot. Normally it's disgust, anger, superiority. Never Happiness.

He would defend me, when people whispered. But that just made the District talk about him too. But he was smart, so at least it wasn't too bad for him. They would mostly pity him, saying that he was only doing it, out of pity. Out of responsibility. Out of society's rules. They say he would defend me because he had to, he was my step-brother.

My only real friend, was potentially not doing it for the sake of helping me. But they were just Words. Letters put together to form words, then Words put together to form sentences. With sentences came insults. And with insults came threats. And with threats, insults and Words, came suicidal thoughts.

I quit school because I thought the insults would stop. Turns out they didn't. I had started going on walks, nothing better to do now with school over forever. I was hoping it would clear my head a little. Help me forget about Words. Stupid Words that for some reason mean so much, so much.

They would never give me a chance. Nobody would. Not Jennifer, not the townsfolk, Not Words. I would get rude when they didn't give me a chance. But when I snapped at them, they would just tell me words. And those would always break me. I would take walks, naps, would read- I had always loved reading. The one place where words were always on my side- to rid my heads of the Words, the very same that plagued my dreams and thoughts.

But the words just followed me. They never left me alone. I have never done anything to anyone, yet. I am the one suffering. I had always been kind to everyone. I would think they finally looked past our differences when would talk to me nicely. They would treat us as friends for a couple of hours.

They would tell me that they had forgotten their red dye at home. I would give them my bottle. Next class they would ask for my sweater because they were cold. I would give it to them. The next day they would return both items. I out the dye back into sweater pocket before slipping the sweater on. When I would get home, I would see why exactly they had plays nice. The word, 'Freak' dyed onto the back of my favourite sweater in big red letters.

I would walk past a shop, I would hear the whispers. I would simply duck my head and try to block the Wirds out. But it never worked, no matter how hard I tried at least area words would get through. Never any nice ones. But I would keep walking. I would wave to a young child, I would hear the mother frantically pull her child away from me. I tried my best not to look offended and hurt. The child would wave back, before the mother would most likely tear her child away from me. Then she would tell him all the lies. He would never want to step nearer ever again.

People would clear a path for me as I walked, not like they did for royalty back then, but because nobody wanted to touch me.

It was nice sometimes, not having to shove your way through a crowd like most were forced to. But other times, most of the time, it was so sad. Depressing. They would clear the way for me because they didn't even want my shoulder to brush theirs. It was lonely too. I was always lonely. I would die insane and alone.

I'm not insane quite yet though. I think I may go insane because of the Words. I know I sound foolish, young, selfish even. They're just words. Just Words. But every time I close my eyes, they're there. Every time I go to sleep, they whisper. Every time I try to escape them, they're right behind me.

I cannot seem to escape. I think I have right to believe I may go insane. I never knew my father. Died. When I was six months old. I know I shouldn't be complaining, imagine if I had actually known him. Only for my father to be torn away from me forever. I wasn't sure which was worse. Because I wanted so badly to have been able to know my father.

Is that selfish? Is it really? I have the right to want to know my father, right? I don't even know what's right and wrong anymore. Words have messed my decisions and opinion long ago. Words would whisper the self into my ear, leaving me more confused than ever.

I would say I was right, I would justify it, calculate it, make sure I was right. Then would would say I was _wrong._ No proof, but because they were Words I would believe them. And soon enough I would convince myself that I had indeed been _wrong._

I was a freak.

I was a idiot.

I was a weirdo.

That was what Words had told me. I believe them. Because I've learned to believe them. Words have twisted my mind, or shown me the truth, which one? I'm not sure. Because I Zelda Knightly, was not only broken but also insane. All because of stupid Words. I am broken and cracked because of Words. And I don't think anyone'll be there for when I finally shatter.

Because I am Zelda Knightly, and Words may have the biggest monster I have ever faced. Who am I kidding, I've never faced them. I've always ran away. Or at least, that's what the Words tell me.

* * *

 **Erm, I think I may have made Zelda insane about Words. She seems so broken though, I just wanna give her a hug. I actually quite like it though, in the end. Sorry about that, hope it's fine with you on that one. But all in all I really like Zelda. Can't wait to write more of her.**


	13. Asher Valentine, D2, Male, Age 17

_Asher Montgomery Valentine, District 2, Male, Age 17_

"No! That's a horrible idea!" I stare at my best friend in disbelief and horror. We were currently behind a hay carriage, discussing just why, Titus's plan was horrible. Titus and I have been debating whether or not to follow through with his plan, I say no, he says yes.

"Come on, Ash, it'll be fun." Titus exclaims. Making wild hand gestures as he speaks.

"Yeah, if being arrested qualifies as fun." I deadpan, scowling at his previous statement.

Titus just rolled his eyes at me, but that didn't stop a huge mischievous smile stretch its way across his face. Making him look quite diabolical. He raised both eyebrows, throwing both hands in front of him and making an whadda'ya say? gesture. All with a welcoming smile... that also made you want to check your pockets every two seconds to see if your spare change had somehow dissapeared. I sighed, "I don't have a choice do I?"

I turned away from him, in order to look over the hay carriage they were currently situated behind. I looked over the passerbys, squinting. Wondering if my best friend and I could be seen by anyone, we would prefer not to be seen by. I duck down as a man in a grey suit looks my way. I stay down for a few seconds, before poking my head up once again.

"You," He Poked me in the back, gesturing that he indeed meant me, not that it was obvious in the slightest. "Need to loosen up a bit, my friend. Those peacekeeping training academies have really shoved a pole up your butt haven't they?" I turn around to stare at him in disbelief. Raising both my eyebrows in question. I would have loved to raise one, like Titus could do, but over the years it was a skill I had never perfected.

I'm currently training to be a peacekeeper, and yes, the academies are strict. But they need to be, if not nobody would listen. I understood that, but it didn't mean I necessarily liked it. Being a peacekeeper, that is. It was more my parents decision than mine, having grown up in poverty. My parents wanted me to find a job that would guarantee we would never have to face the life on the street anytime soon. And during the academies, you had to also be strict, no room for flirting or teasing there. If so, you were kicked out, gone, never allowed back. Which is why Titus will never become a peacekeeper.

"I mean, you're no fun." He continued, not giving me nearly enough time to retaliate. In fact, that was just what I had been planning on doing, my mouth open to form an O, ready to speak against his words. But he cut me off before I could, I guess best friends really are telepathic. "All you do is work, work, work. And never just lay back and relax." He continued, with a look over his shoulder to the citizens in front of our hay carriage. Making sure, like I had done, that nobody was looking our way.

I did work a lot. At the stone quarry. Which in turn muscled me up quite a bit, along with all that peacekeeper training. But, before my parents had decided on me being a peacekeeper, when we were still poor And practically begging for our dinner, I had taken up the job at the stone quarry. From there we managed to buy a nice house, and I kept working. I still do, but I also am training to be a peacekeeper as well. So, yes I do work quite a bit. But it's because my family and I can't afford to be broke once again, I need to support my family. So I didn't have much time for the 'fun' Titus was suggesting.

"Fine." I say giving in, I close both my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. In an attempt to calm myself down. I love Titus and all, but his plans never work out in the long run. "What are we doing again?" I sigh, already regretting my decision, once my dark green orbs- with specks of gold- catch the smile on my best friend's face.

It was absolutely horrifying. I scooted a good few centimetres away from him. Just as an extra precaution, in case he pulled out a mace from behind him and decided to start hacking my head off.

He opened his mouth to speak. After he finished, I stared at him, not glaring or scowling, but not smiling either. "No." I said simply. Stopping him from dragging me into this mess. "But you already agreed didn't you, sire?" He gave me a wicked grin, mimicking the voice of our mayor's assistant. Who everyone knew, but at the same time everyone didn't.

He was the type of person, where you'd see him walking down the street and say, 'That's Manly Brodaer, the mayor's assistant. Twenty-three, he is.' But not know the first thing about his personality or preferences. What he did outside his job. I look at Titus, he seems impatient, still waiting for my answer. When I don't give it, he answers for me.

"Yes, you did agree. So hop to it, we've got some fun to play." I groan. "Let's go." He says, eagerly pulling on my arm. I buddy my head in my hands. And I don't need to see his face to know that he's grinning like a maniac.

* * *

"What the Hell were you thinking!" I scream at the laughing boy next to me. The wind shipping at my features. We were currently running away from a very angry salesman. Who had, evidently been the target of Titus' so called 'fun'. I bash into a woman, holding onto a young boy's hand. She looks angry as her hat almost falls off, and the boy is looking quizzically at me. Ginger hair falling in front of his eyes, his baby face scrunching up in Confusion."Sorry." I said before sprinting ahead even further from the young family. I hear the outline of curses the woman shoots my way.

"I wasn't! I wasn't thinking!" I stare in disbelief at the boy next to me. My left eye twisting slightly. He had just openly admitted that he hadn't been thinking, about what cold have potentially gotten us killed. And he says this all with a giant toothy grin plastered sloppily onto his features." But did you see his face! Priceless!"

My left eyes twitches again. That was the redemption. The salesman's face. He made it sound as if it were all worth it. Which it most certainly was not. I duck my head as it is about to hit a dangling sign, hanging from one of the shops. I hear curses thrown our way, as we shove our way out of the crowd gathered in front of said shop.

"You could have gotten us killed!" An elderly man turns around to look at us. His face scrunched together, as if trying to figure us out. I sprint faster in order to avoid the very same from happening.

"But we weren't, were we!" His blond hair is whipping in all directions. Which was a bed head 24/7. I put both hands in front of my face and groan, which probably wasn't the smartest decision, because moments later I had ran face first into a streetlight. "Ow!" I hear a laugh from beside me. Titus is still running and moments later he surpasses me. I regain my balance and continue after him. I se his figure stumbled a bit, he seems to have tripped on a foot or something.

"Do you think we lost Mr. Chybbins?" I ask. Mr. Chybbins had been the business man we had disturbed. Or, well Titus had disturbed. I had merely been dragged into the mess. Titus shrugged. "Probably, even if he had gotten past that massive crowd, there's no way he would find us here." I cocked an eyebrow at him, slowing down my pace to a light jog.

"And why's that?" He grinned at me sheepishly. His blue eyes sparkling, while he fiddled with his fingers.

"Because even I have absolutely no idea where we are." Titus remarks while bouncing on his heels. Smiling apologetically. I groan and burry my face in my hands. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking." I sit down, no longer needing to be standing up, he follows my actions. Padding some dirt from his clothes as he does. Mockingly patting his legs as he sits down crisis-cross. "Well..." He starts looking around. I let out another groan.

"Nope." He says, popping the 'P'. Yet, another groan escapes my mouth. "Hey, look on the bright side." I stare at him, removing my dark hands from my face. But brushing some hair from my face. I look down, considering he is a good few inches shorter than me. "What exactly is the bright side of this situation?" I deadpan, not a trace of emotion on my face. "You get to spent all day with me, helping me think of my next prank." Groaning, I fall backwards, spreading my arms, and just lying there. With both eyes closed, contemplating the many ways that I could kill my best friend.

"So, who should we prank next?" I open my eyes. My green orbs fixtated on the cloud shaped, suspiciously like a cat. "Ash, your thoughts?" He says lacing his fingers together in mock seriousness. He then rests his chin on said fingers and stares at the mahogany tree behind me. "Who said anything about a 'we'." I say, still from my position on the ground, but making sure he sees the quotations near the end of my sentence.

"Ah." He says, in order to hear better, I prop myself onto my elbows, raising both eyebrows in confusion. "You say that every time, my dear Ash. But you always join me the next." He says patting my head. I fall back down, sighing, as I close my eyes once more. "You're an idiot." I deadpan. Not looking at him, I open my eyes and stare at my surroundings. Not another living soul in sight.

"You love me." He says, patting my head and shaking his in exaggerated exasperation. I shoo his hand away from my brown locks, and itch my elbow, the grass had been making it feel simply itchable since I've layer down.

"I haven't got the slightest clue as to why." I respond, my voice sounds bored, but the fond smile appearing on my face tells a different story. He seems to take this seriously, before getting yet another evil smirk on his face. Shuffling back a bit, he puts his hand to his chin, as if he were thinking hard. Snapping his fingers, his whole face lights up. Before speaking.

"I know! Is it my ridiculously hot bod, maybe it's my brilliant personality." He says gesturing to himself. He continues on with ridiculous hand gestures and exaggerated critiques. Until finally I roll my eyes. He sees ,y expression and waves both hands I front of my face. "No! Wait! I've got it! It's my genius skills isn't it?" Shaking my head I stare at the clouds. Leaving him to contemplate my actions. "Does that one look like a cat to you? Because I swear that it is." I point to the same cloud I had been eyeing earlier, which still looked suspiciously like a cat.

"No, Ash, that ones definitely a pig." He says shaking his head, looking at me as if I were the idiot out of the pair. "Look, there's its tail, and over there are its ears-"

"No. That its legs and-"

"It's legs? That! No way! I you say I'm the idiot."

"Well, listen here...

* * *

It's fair to say we spent the next thirty minutes debating whether it's a pig or a cat, until the cloud finally changes shape, and we can both agree that it was in fact, the whole time, a bear.

* * *

 **Asher. Cool yeah? Titus is definitely fun. And despite all of Asher's complaining, he really does care for the loveable idiot.**


	14. Lilith Cadow, D12, Female, Age 13

_Lilith Cadow, District 12, Female, Age 13_

I see red, it's dancing. A black figures emerges from the red, I blink rapidly trying to clear my vision. I hear screams, and shouts from behind me, I turn but see nothing. I sway slightly and I hear muffled sounds, a speaker perhaps trying to talk. When I turn back around, The black figure is no longer faceless. There standing before me is my older brother. I see another figure approach behind him, I see a cruel smile stretch its way onto the man's face. He's holding a knife. I try to call out to my brother, warn him of he man behind him. Hiyro, my brother, smiles and waves to me. But my voice doesn't seem to work. His smile vanishes, He screams as the knife pierces his back. His blood makes my vision go an even a darker shade of red. I'm feeling dizzy, numb, and then I collapse.

When I open my eyes, my vision has cleared, and is no longer a dark shade if blood red. I sigh as I step out of bed. Just another nightmare, ever since the rebellion. I haven't had a calm dream to date. They're always nightmares. Never daydreams. And nightmares were not the only thing I faced, hallucinations as well. And although I know that they were hallucinations, visions, nothing more. I often would find myself screaming, begging them to, "Stop." "Don't Kill.". Even though I knew that they were hallucinations, while I experienced them, they always felt one hundred percent real.

This one was a recurring one. My brother being murderred, during the rebellion we had been targeted. My family being one of power, my mother and father worked for the Capitol. They were strong Loyalists, expecting us to follow. We did. At the time I believed in the rebels, thinking that they had the right idea. But, I didn't act on it. Thinking it was a silly feeling that would soon pass. It never did. I followed my parents into the Loyalist side, standing strong, no matter how much hate we got for it. We were District twelve, we weren't suppose to be Loyalist. We were suppose to be Rebels.

And I wanted to be one, but I was too cowardly too act on it. Amd I stills am. I am crazy, I am insane, and I know I am a coward. I believed in the rebel cause, and instead I stood by and watched my fellow rebellion believers be murderred in front of me. So, I pushed the feeling of favour isn down and became a full on Loyalist, supporting ,y family in all that they went for. And for that we had been on the kill list of many rebels, as well as rebel assassins. They never went for me though, I assumed that deep down they all suspected where my loyalties lied. Or maybe that was just whist ful thinking. Sadly, we lost my mother to this, not exactly the rebels, simply the war, another nightmare I would often experience. While I was trying to escape the literal nightmare of the life I live now.

My father lost his job after the war, so now we were reduced to living of the money they had earned previously to keep us going. He had been accused of harbouring a rebel, which in a way was true. I was the rebel, and although I had never truly acted on my beliefs, I may have been just below the levels of subtly needed to pass a true Loyalist. When that money ran out, we were done for. My brother had faced death on more than one occasion, there had been times when I thought, when he skin was too cold to alive, or when he lay motionless for hours, perhaps that one time when he got shot in the chest, he may have passed. It was these things that would trigger the dreams.

And although my brother is still alive, it doesn't stop the nightmares of what may have happened, or what will come in the future. While we still live in our previous house, I don't know for how much longer. Soon we will run out of money my parents had earned prior, then it's forced to living on the streets. My mother is gone, with her, we may have at least had a chance of making more money, if she hadn't died we wouldn't practically bankrupt and about to go hungry.

But it wasn't her fault. I'm being selfish. It wasn't her fault. I'm being selfish. It was theirs, the Loyalist. Even though my mother supported them, and was on their side. They still fired, and managed to kill her. It was friendly fire that resulted in death for not only my mother, but most likely us once we run out of our limited supplies. Once again only fuelling my rebel desire. But, once again I am too bloody coward to do so.

I brush the hair out of my eyes, it is cut cleanly, but clean is anything but the hair on my head. It's filthy, I try running my fingers through it, but the knots stop my fingers from going any further. The hair, which normally goes down to a little below my chest, now rest calmly around my shoulders. Due purely to the knots and bet head of the morning. I pat down the raven hair on my head, stopping it from bouncing up once again. I rub the sleep out of my eyes, and take a few more steps towards my mirror. I scratch behind my ear before looking up to face myself, I don't gasp, nor smile. I simply stare at the girl in front of me, I sigh.

My skin is sickly and pale, I was always pale to begin with, but now it's just horrid. I look on the verge of death. Which may or may not be true, give it a few weeks. I see two zits on my forehead, I try covering hem with my hair, my freckles seem to be barely visible as they seem to have faded I. Colour along with my skin. I got on my tippy-toes in order to see my waist in the mirror, it's horribly skinny. I lift up my shirt slightly, and I can see bones from underneath the skin. I sigh, when you go from gourmet dinners to eating next to nothing, you're body goes through quite the shock.

I close my eyes for a second, thinking, clearing my mind. When I open them again, there staring back at me was a smiling girl. She looked like me, but instead of the Lin line my lips were pressed into, she wore a cruel smile. With a sharper teeth and instead of the blue of my own eyes, which I have been told to be my most striking feature, I saw red reflected in hers. Or were they mine?

I shake my head, I see my raven hair cover my vision for a second before it is cleared once more. The world is now purple. I hear screams, piercing sreeks that are so loud they make me stumble to my right. I catch myself though on what appears to be a human's back. It's cold, he turns his head to smile at me, he's missing his eyes. I shriek as I stumble away once more. My hand still cold from his naked back, although the rest of his was covered. The human is now out of sight, the only thing I can see is the purple haze surrounding my bedroom.

I scream as I see myself, this time she is out of the mirror, her hair is no longer black, But blonde. Her eyes still the blood red from before, her teeth no longer barred in a menacing smile. This time her lips rest calmly on her fave, not moving. I try and hit her, but she vanishes into mist as I swing. I stumble off balance before I hear shouts, screams. I cover my ears and fall to the ground.

I am shaking as the screams get louder, and louder. Finally they stop, I look up from my position on the floor. The purple is gone. Instead I see my brother Hiyro bending down, looking at me with concerned eyes. "Lilith?" He says while trying to pry my hands away from my ears, when he doesn't succeed he pushes a strand piece of black hair behind my left ear. Carefully sliding his thumb and knee under my fingers, currently blocking the ears, in order to do said action. I remove my hands from my ears.

And look up apologetically. "Sorry, hallucin-" "ations. I know, we could hear your screams from downstairs. Dad was getting worried." I look down guiltily, he ruffles my hair gently. "It's Ok, it's normal." I look up at him, asking the silent question of, do you really believe that? He seemed to get the message though, sighing he took both my hands In His much larger ones. "It's Ok, they're only dreams." I nodded, prying my hands away from his. As much as love his support, I don't want him babying me. I know I have problems, and am not completely right in the head, but I want to be able to live by myself. If I need to die, I don't want him going for me, or because of me.

God knows how I'd deal with survivor's guilt. I wanted to face my hallucinations and visions on my own, I needed to conquer this inner demon of mine. I love Hiyro, but some of my nightmares consist of just that. People dipping because of me, or more specifically Hiyro. My older, slightly rebellious, brother. Black, raven hair like me. But instead of possessing my striking blue eyes, he's received much duller and mellowed greens. Him risking his life for me, I would be horrified. If anyone would have deserved to live it'd be him. Anyone but me, I'm not even fully there. There's always that one insane part of me that's never listening.

Hyiro was still there, holding onto his knees, waiting for me to speak. "Fine, sorry for bothering you." He looks slightly out off,before smiling at me sadly and getting up. He walks over to my doo, looking in the mirror once before he walks out. Giving me an encouraging thumbs up as he went. But his mile was still sad, even he knew I was gone. Broken. Shattered.

I am broken, but each shattered piece has formed its own personality and face. My personality divided among these pieces, I can't seem to decided which one I like best. I may be rude and snarky, proud and headstrong, loyal and fierce, broken and shattered, I could be anything. Because my personality broke around the same time as my sanity.

* * *

 **Lilith, yeah I think I ruined her. Well this is what I get for trying to write her at 1o'clock at night hoping to go as fast I can to get a chapter in.**


	15. Hollis Pobarr, D9, Male, Age 17

_Hollis Pobarr, District 9, Male, Age 17_

"I freaking hate the Capitol." I stated, quite plainly while looking at the sky. The clouds slightly grey, I assumed it was going to rain later, we'd be home by then though.

"Same here, brother. Same here." I looked over at the pale boy beside me, Ajax. Probably the most extreme rebel of us. Sure, I was a die-hard rebel, but he was on a whole 'nother level. He turned, sensing my dark brown orbs on him. "Frig off, dude. Stop staring, I get I'm attractive and all but cut the Edward impression." I rolled my eyes, so that faced the sky once more. Some of the clouds had gone surprisingly, leaving more blue to the open. Which was good for us at the moment, but not for the crops our District provided. Well, more work for them stupid Loyalists I guess.

The third member of our party propped himself up onto his hands, ready to speak. I looked over at him, Durango, he had Spanish origins. Some place outside Panem, outside Panem. Now that'd be the life. No stupid Capitol. "Listen, amigos, subject change please? You talk about this everyday, my friends, perhaps a change would be beneficial?" Yeah, Durango wasn't really a rebel. More of a neutral, but if he did have to choose. Well, we may have influenced his choice a tad. He would choose rebel, no doubt about it. After many many conversations, and some of our influence of course

Propping myself up on my elbows, I flipped him off. "Just a suggestion." he said, rolling his eyes, and lying back down onto his back. He understood our infatuation with the Rebellion, but he tried changing the subject any time we went on for too long. Because seriously, I could go on for days. I hated them that much.

"Give the poor guy a chance, Hollis." Ajax snickered next to me. I was easily considering giving him the bird as well, but decided against it. Simply shrugging and settling back down. Apparently Durango caught this too. "Hey! You give the finger, yet all he gets is a shrug? Viva la Revolution and all that, favouritism is a nasty thing, my friend." I flipped him off again. I could hear the snickers of Ajax from beside me, as well as the huff of the Spanish boy besides me.

I bet you're wondering why exactly I hate the Capitol so much. Well, we go way back.

I was a rebel In the war, along with my entire family. But that's not too much of surprise, yeah? Hope not. I was A horrible person, for the Capitol that is. Going to every riot imaginable, held in District nine. Planting seeds of revolt in others minds. Publicly protesting, while my fellow District nine civilians watched. Cowards. And idiots. The lot of them. Forever by my side was Fisk. My brother, yeah? Best thing to ever grace our stupid District. He was a saint among souls, a light in the dark. And he supported me, through thick and thin.

He was by my side everywhere. Whether I was protesting, hurting, everything. But one day, we were caught. It was the best, I remember punching someone in the face. Then, next thing I knew, Fisk was screaming. I remember turning, I saw him behind me, his arm bent behind him, the peacekeeper painfully tugging on it. The one grabbed me, they were calling for reinforcements. I remember seeing my brother struggling, kicking, biting trying to escape. More peacekeepers came, tried restraining him, they were, but that didn't stop him.

Finally I remember everything going black, and I passed out. From the over exertion, as well as the pain. Next thing I knew, I was in a room, somewhere. There were ropes around my wrists, and two peacekeepers on my arms. They were dragging me somewhere, it was dark, and I could barely make out their uniforms. So that's why when the sudden light hit me, I screeched. I actually screamed. The sudden daylight, hit me like a truck. I remember the peacekeepers snickering, I had tried struggling against my binds, it didn't work. They just laughed harder, and so my hatred simply deepened.

But The pain from the light was nothing than the actual emotional pain that followed. They had led me to a stage. A guillotine standing proud and tall in the centre. Crowds of people standing below me, with remorseful faces, and tear speckled faces. I was going to die. And even though technically this was own fault, I hadn't been freaking careful enough, I still liked to blame the Capitol.

Because, in the guillotine was Fisk. His head was resting on the little hole for the head, his hand tied behind his back like mine. A guard was standing behind him, his leg on Fisk's back, keeping him from escaping. I wanted to cry out, protest, but before I could, a hand covered my mouth. "Don't go doing anything rash, your next." And I froze, his hand slowly lifted off my mouth when he were certain I wouldn't speak.

I stared straight ahead, my brother caught my eye. I no longer saw the confident, humorous, self-assured boy I had grown up with. No. There, on his knees, was a broken boy begging for mercy. He had snapped. Was broken, shattered. In mere moments, a strong man became a feeble boy. And it hurt. It pained me, looking into his eye, it pained me. And my hate for the Capitol was suddenly accompanied with fear. I was going to die. I was going to get killed. And that realization broke me.

All those protests, actions against the Capitol, finally came with consequences. Now Fisk was going to die, because of those consequences. I was going to die, because of those consequences. I freaking hate the Capitol. I've said it once, I've said it a million times. It never loses any of the bitterness behind it.

I remember the head peacekeeper, straightening up, before gracing the stage with his presence. To this day, I can remember his exact words, or the general idea of it anyways. Something like this. "These boys are traitors, rebels, leftover from the war. These boys are not to be trusted, admired or loved. They deserve none of it." The peacekeeper sneered, venom clearly laced between his words. "The young one, public assault on a peacekeeper." He paused to gesture towards me, I looked at the crowd, none looked disgusted, but none looked surprised,nor particularly sad. It was pity that was instead on their faces, pity laced with guilt. Even if just a little, I was a mere boy. Sentenced to death, for a mere fist.

"The older one, resisted more, though. He struggled, bit, kicked, punched. Even though he knew he was gone, good as dead. And because of this, he's dying first." He paused and looked straight at me, his eyes murderous, he was clearly enjoying his theatrics. "I hope you're enjoying the show, young one. I presume you like the front row seats to your own execution? But your brother first, yes?" I refused to make eye contact, I could hear him chuckle. Sick bastard.

I heard a young child scream. As the heavy metal, fell. A sick sounds, cutting through the people. The head was gone, it had to be, if the screams of the children were anything to go by. I could feel tears prickling my eyes, but I refused. Barring my teeth and ducking my head.

The guards would get a real kick out of that wouldn't they, to see me cry? I felt someone push me from behind, I turned to see who. All I was met by, was a black mask. I could vaguely see a face behind it. It was male, and not a stretch of guilt or pig was laced onto his features.

"Come now, child. Your turn." I didn't move, I felt another shove and stumbled forward slightly. The head peacekeeper laughed. His heal met was off, tucked under his arm. I awkwardly, and reluctantly shuffled forward. The head guard started to grow impatient though, he grabbed my arm and practically threw me though the guillotine. "You two," he said gesturing to two peacekeeper off of the stage. Secure the boy. They awkwardly stumbled forward, clearly not used to this.

When they barely out a foot on me, I knew this was a chance to escape. These two had been obvious amateurs, they were distracted and clumsy. Perfect for what I had in mind. I was strong, and my life would not end here, I would live on for Fisk, for the rebellion. I wanted to personally screw over those stupid Capitol bastards. Every single last one of them. And of course, the guard prepared another big speak for my execution as well. He was sick, a sick sick bastard. Who enjoyed watching people suffer. And what did he represent? The Capitol. How I hated the Capitol in those moments.

"How did it feel? To watch your brother die, boy? Heartbreaking? Devastating? Ever thought about consequences, outcomes?" I refused to look him in the eye. "Well, that's how it is. I'll enjoy your death, truly I will. That's a compliment by the way." I saw his figure nod to someone, holding the rope I presume. He dropped it, quickly I quirked and turned trying to get my head away. I turned on my right, my chest and shoulder crook, now exposed to the guillotine.

It cut me, and it hurt. More than anything I could have imagined. It wa excruciating. It burned, like fire piercing my skin, yet it was also icy cold. The touch of the metal had been like frostbite. It dug deep, like a parent amplified by thousands. I could see the blood, it was red and clouding my vision. I was seeing black and blue from the pain, I felt like passing out. And I semi did, but the pain wouldn't give me a break. I wouldn't pass. I could hear shouts, frenzied peacekeepers.

Everyone was in panic, nobody knew what to do. "Leave him. He'll be in more pain whether he lives or dies. Let him bleed out, or perhaps be saved, either way he'll wish he hadn't retaliated. Ironically, getting his head chopped off would have been better." Then they left. All of them, the citizens, the peacekeepers. I heard a scream, of which I reconized to be my sister Marley. A sly planner against the Capitol, playful and fun. Now here treats were anything but playful. Then I heard two frantic voices, lifting me off the ground. They spoke in hushed whispers, frenzied words. They carried me, and finally I blacked out. My last look at Fisk' bloodied head still in a basket beside the guillotine. Staring lifeless lay ahead. Soon I would learn, that my two saviours had been Durango and Ajax. Two boys from school, sliding into friendship was simple after that.

Later my two parents died, my mother In a bombing, a rebellion. She was only one among many. My father had also been Against the Capitol, but in more subtle ways, like sabotaging a peacekeepers jeep, or sending messages to rebel leaders. He died a few months later, killed by a peacekeeper in the streets. He had been Marley and I's main guardian growing up. Our mother always at protest, but when he died. Marley and I were left with nobody but ourselves.

ooooOoooo

Sliding back into the present, currently I was feigning sleeping. My eyes closed and breath slowed. Of course my friends bought it, I'd been doing it for years. What followed wa definitely unexpected though.

I felt a poke on my cheek. "Asleep?" I heard, Ajax.

"Asleep." Durango comfirmed.

"He's broken, you can see it too right?"

I didn't hear a response. Turning myself around, so that they couldn't see. I gently traced the scar on my collarbone. Shivering slightly, once I reached the end. I hate the Capitol right now. Apparently the Capitol broke me, and for once I don't think I disagree.

* * *

 **So Hollis. A die-hard rebel this one is, yeah?**


	16. Alarik Dayne, D12, Male, Age 15

_Alarik Dayn, District 12, Male, Age 15_

I turned towards my friend, Kaltin Matthews, who was currently crouched besides me. "Kaltin, nothing's-" I was evidently cut off by the loud shushing noise, which Kaltin had just produced. Rolling my eyes at him, I turned forward once more. We were currently hiding behind a bush. A blueberry bush to be exact.

And I just stared in front of me. Waiting, desperately for something to happen. The leaves obscured my vision slightly, but I could see in front of me more or less. But, no matter how intertwining watching nothing was, I grew bored fairly quickly. "You know your shushing was louder than my whispering, right?" I was cut off once more by the obnoxious and irritated shush of Kaltin. Who was now giving me a glare.

We'd been doing this for a while now. Going outside the fence, we needed to feed our families somehow. Right? After the rebellion ended, the fence, had been pretty much destroyed. All zone outside the fence, well, pretty much a catastrophe in itself. The security around had been pretty lax lately, District 12 had been mostly neutral in the war.

The Capitol assumed that no huge riots would break out any time soon, they left us with minimal security, they needed that for the other Districts. Like District 11, for example. The fence hadn't even been properly fixed, with gaping holes everywhere. Many escaped outside the fence these days, there were few who didn't. But most weren't half as good at finding what they were searching for as Kaltin and I.

What were they looking for? Food. Simple as that. We were starving here, most us of us hadn't participated in the war due simple to sheer feebleness. We were half starved, on the verge of death, we couldn't fight any _battles._ Let alone _wars._ Most gave up, fairly quickly. Realizing that this wasn't the way to get food, at least not for them. They would find other methods.

Kaltin had figured out how to make traps. In turn he taught me, and soon every second day we were out hunting. Always together thougH, even if I didn't necessarily need the food. I lived in the richer part of District 12, every District had one. And I was simply part of District 12's.

Well, I lived in the richer part of District, therefore I had a necessary amount of food to live, but I would still help Kaltin, hedidn't necessarily need it either. H had enough, but he still wanted extra, just in case there were to be a shortage of sorts. And he don't keep it all for himself, he shared gave some to those he knew needed it more. And although I knew it was selfish, sometimes I craved just a little more food than was simply necessary.

I felt a poke to my shoulder, turning around slowly, I looked at Kaltin face. I raised an eyebrow in question, clearly asking, _What?_ Instead of responding, he jabbed his thumb in the diction of our trap. Turning my head to peak through the bushes, I squinted at the scene in front of me.

I saw a little grey rabbit hop its way towards the trap. Excitedly I watched, eager to see the trap work. And although I knew we were taking an animal's life, Kaltin's traps never ceased to amaze me.

I saw the rabbit hop straight into the trap, next thing I knew the metal like rope was strained around the grey creature's neck. I watched, morbid fascination taking over for me. The more the rabbit struggled the harder the coil got, until finally it stopped struggling. And went limp in the trap. I gave the bunny a silent prayer, before going to collect the meat. Although I knew much about traps, Kaltin would still always one up me.

But I did know how to free the bunny, sliding it out of its prison, as well as grave, I held it proudly in the air for Kaltin to see. "Job Rik, you managed to free the mighty beast." Rolling my eyes I waved it in front of him, "Want it? Because I'll happily bring him home for me tonight."

I could've sworn that I heard Kaltin mutter, "Idiot.", under his breath before going back slowly to our bush and returning with a brown bag, which we used to carry the game in. I practically threw the dead animal into the bag, before Kaltin tied it up using the leather cord.

"There, how much do you think we'll get for this one?" I cocked my head, I thought he was going to eat the grey animal. Although he usual,y sold them, I had come to realize he had a pattern to it, he was currently breaking said pattern. But, as a thought entered my mind, I couldn't help but forget the rest.

"Or we could totally freak out Maty May with this thing. You know wave it around in her face, maybe leave it in her soup?" Kaltin had been walking, going to the Hob I presume, the 'black market', to sell the meat. He turned gave me a sharp look, before continuing on his merry way.

I started jogging after him, not without muttering the Word, 'Buzzkill.', as I went. But, it didn't start the fond smile from growing on my face as Kaltin turned aroUnd and quite plainly flipped me off. I shut up after that, and I could practically see the smug smile on his face after that. Even if his back was towards me.

ooooOoooo

"That was awesome." Gregory, my friend from the Seam, voiced his thoughts out loud. We had been friends since we were kids. He was a month older than me, something he always seemed to need to bring up during conversations. It was quite irritating actually, add on the fact that he was also taller. Yet another thing he often brought up. Smiling, I nodded in agreement. Probably looking like an idiot, when no one was responding I decided to speak.

"Agreed, agreed." It was simple, yet obviously said a lot. Considering the way Gregory was starring at me, his eyes gleamed and quite honestly smiling maniacally. He was propped up on his arms, while I had opted instead to simply sitting crossed legged on the firm wood floors of our house.

"Well, Rik, apparently you were right. A man does not appreciate you putting a dead squirrel up his shirt." That was James, my younger brother by five years. He usually tagged along on our pranks, or whatever the Hell we were doing. We formed a 'gang' or 'trio' of sorts. He was pretty much the only member of our family without plans. Or in the middle of plans.

My dad was the District Doctor. For all the injuries involving the mine, he accepted trade as payment sometimes, which was why we could afford our pace among the rich. But at the moment he was in the Capitol, something to do with an upcoming project of sorts. I don't know. My mother was a nurse, of ten assisting my father in his work. And my olde brother Henry was studying to be a doctor in the Capitol.

With a family full of Doctors and medical professionals naturally I wanted to be one too, but I don't think I'll have the grades to do so. And it wasn't just because of my family, sure they influenced it a bit, but I generally wanted to become a doctor. And it sure would pay the bills, it would be great not having to worry about money.

"Yeah, but remember how you thought of putting dead rabbit in his soup? Not much better really." Kaltin's voice popped me out of my thoughts, and back into the conversation at hand. What were we talking about gain, oh yes, stuffing a squirrel up a man's shirt. I smiled sheepishly at Kaltin's comment. Right before turning my face into mock seriousness, complete with a mock glare.

"Shut it, Kaltin, or I'm never inviting you to one of our... Erm... _Outings_ again." See, Kaltin wasn't exactly part of our trio. He just tagged along every now and then when he was bored or had nothing better to do. Today was one of those days.

"Sure, 'Outings' is the appropriate word for it." He deadpanned, adding quotations onto the term, 'Outings'. His face seemed devoid of all emotion, minus the signature eye roll. "More like trying to get us freaking killed!" And hiss calm fatigue was flushed down the toilet of dissapointement. Despite his sudden attack we all started laughing, soon he had no choice but no join in.

"Hey, in our defence, how were we suppose to know that he wasn't going to like dead squirrel in his shirt?" James inquired from his position on the floor, he was currently on his stomach, his head propped up on his hands. He had a meaningful expression on his face, but everyone could clearly see he was trying hard not to burst out laughing.

"Exactly, he could have liked it for all you know." Gregory added, his finger shaking at Kaltin who looked so done with us. Gregory's face looked so serious, it was extremely difficult not to at least chuckle. And when Kaltin's eye twitched I wanted to burst into a fit of laughs, but somehow I managed not to.

"Loved it for all we care." I piped up, a few stray giggles could be heard as I finished my sentence. I will admit that some may have escaped my mouth, but not all of them, might I assure you.

"Stop ganging up on me." Kaltin whined from his position on the floor, both legs in front of him. And at that all our contained emotions came tumbling out into a giant fit of laughs. When it finally calmed, James, Gregory and I looked at each other before nodding in confirmation. All the while Kaltin simply eyed us suspiciously.

We all turned to face Kaltin, well Grgeory didn't considering in our makeshift circle, he was sitting directly across from him. James and I though had to turn slightly in order to stare directly at him, let's just say Kaltin's suspicious eye never faltered.

Gregory started."We can't help it that we're-"

Followed by James."Our very own little gang-"

And then me, "Who participate together-"

Gregory once more, "In fun little Outings-"

Followed again by James, "That usually go horrible wrong-"

I piped up from my side, "Or as you just said-"

"May result in death." We all chimed in together. It was silent, too silent. Before Kaltin's eye twitched and he asked, mortified. "Have you rehearsed that?" He looked kinda frightened, which made me want to burst out laughing. I could tell the other members of the 'little gang' felt the same. We made eye contact once again before turning to face Kaltin, who till looked absolutely terrified, before simultaneously saying, "Yep, many times actually." We burst into laughs after that, before Kaltin stopped, his face dead serious. We stopped too, slightly worried.

"Don't ever do that _ever_ again." I heard Gregory let out a sigh of relief, before bursting into a fit of giggles once more. "For a second **-laugh-** I thought you were actually completely **-laugh-** serious! Like you were **-laugh-** gonna say something **-laugh-** morbid." Announced James, between laughs, completely amused. I could've sworn he wiped away a tear at some point.

"Agreed, agreed." I mused my words from before, this time with much more laughter behind my voice.

* * *

 **I quite enjoyed writing this chapter. It was fun. It was a break from writing stuff that makes me want to cry writing it. XD**

 **Also to CrazyCat: I will use him, although not in the way you might expect it, just keep reading and he'll show up. Promise** **, be on the lookout for him. He and another may have a significant role to play in this story.**


	17. Thorn Willows, D11, Male, Age 16

_Thorn Willows, District 11, Male, Age 16_

I stood patiently behind the counter, waiting for someone to walk in and relieve my boredom potentially fort a good minute or so. For, what I would say, a few hours, I had been waiting desperately for something to happen. Sure, customers came in, but all they really did was browse,, choose, buy, then leave. Just peachy. I knew I shouldn't complain. What did I have to complain about?

For someone from District 11, I was living it. District 11 was strict, harsh, and unforgiving. I expected nothing less, given how we acted in the rebellion. The Capitol has good reasons for keeping us under such tight wraps, but that doesn't mean I like it. At all. I craved freedom, something our District could never provide. But again, I should consider myself lucky. I was the grocer's son, I wasn't that hated Loyalist, everyone in the District booed at while they passed. Nor, was I the executed rebel, murdered by the Capitol for treason. I was the grocer's son, living the easy life, with food, family.

But that didn't mean I Don't wished for freedom, something different. And that thought made me extremely guilty. Everyday I saw starving families, knowing I would come home to a house full of food, we couldn't eat everything, what would be left to sell? But we definitely had enough to last us a good three years at the least. It made you feel bad, but could you really control your emotions? I'd seen some try, but they never seemed to succeed for more than a few days.

I boredly flicked at a loose strand of curly hair, which had fallen in front of my eye. It sounded like Heaven when I heard the familiar ring of the bell resound through the shop. Excitedly I straightened up, brushing off dust from my burgundy shirt. There wasn't any of course, just a force of habit I guess.

Looking up, I took in the appeRence of the new customer. Well, customers, there was a boy, with a little girl tucked under his arm. He was tall, perhaps about 6"2', with trimmed brown, practically black hair falling in front of brown eyes. The girl looked very similar, I assumed they were siblings. She had brown eyes, as well as light brown skin. She was looking up at the boy expectantly, her arms were at her side, and she looked around six. The boy was probably my age, maybe older. He started looking around, the girl doing the same. He took his arm off her as He walked forward, him and the girl stuck together though, as she seemed to trail him like a lost puppy.

The store was dead silent, beside the slight noise of the wind, and footsteps and conversations of the pair of siblings currently browsing the stands. I could hear them, if I strained my ears slightly.

I saw the boy sigh, at something the girl had said. I didn't quite catch it as it seemed she spoke on barely a whisper, soft and quiet. But when he spoke his voice was firm and loud. "Elissy, stop, we just have enough money to buy for the week, no extra. And no, we aren't going to the sweet shop, I worked for this money we can't spend it all on things we don't need." His tone was light, but it seemed like it would've been more of an affective sentence said with a harsher tone. I assumed he had a soft spot for his sister, or he was really a big softy under all the muscle.

I heard the girl, Elissy, sigh, before nodding her head. "Can we at least go to the bakery to get some cake?" The boy shook his head, chuckling slightly at the end. I kept watching them, only did I realize that it may have been a little creepy was when the boy looked over his shoulder and caught my eye.

He had made a face at me, cleary giving me a 'WTF' expression. I smiled sheepishly before speaking. "Sorry, am bored." I saw Elissy giggle before tugging on her brother sleeve. Who had just recently rolled his eyes at my revelation.

He had picked out a few things, just vegetables and some fruits mostly. When he approached the counter he shouted for Elissy to come and she quickly scrambled away from her position from behind a stand of corn.

He dropped them down onto the counter, gave me a once over before whispering something to Elissy. I managed to catch Corn, and maybe Fields, something about a Nurse too. I quickly checked everything, "So, my name's Thorn. You?" I managed with small smile. He eyes me warily before cracking a grin.

"Ulysses, and this is Elissy." He gestured to his little sister, who gave a giant toothy grin. He then leaned over the counter, whispering something to me. "And dude, people watching is a frigging creepy habit." I laughed, "But a quite entertaining one wouldn't you agree?" I saw him roll his eyes. "Hi, I'm Elissy. I like your hair." The little girl seemed to want to join the conversation, by introducing herself while sticking out her hand for a handshake. Leaning over the counter to do so, I shook it with a smile. "Thorn Willows, at your service." I told him the price.

And without any second objections he pulled out the money and handed it to me. I took a bag from the counter to put his stash in, he stuffed them in as I wished him a good day. He smiled, before starting out towards the door. Elissy strayed behind only by a little "Bye!" Shouted the six year old as her brother guided her out the door. I heard the ring of the Bell once more, and soon succumbed to boredom again.

At least this was better than yesterday. Which had been the monthly inspection. Instead of being bored that day, you were constantly on edge. Even a trace of something rebel and you were as good as dead. I remember that my family had been extremely on nervous, they had tidied up the place. Making sure it looked great for when the peacekeeper came. You would get shut down, not only of any trace of rebel were around, but also if it was unsanitary, you weren't making enough money, your brother di something offensive. Anything, I had helped clean up the counter, making sure the dust was gone and it was left spotless.

I was glad to be honest, instead of having the constant feeling of being covered in dirt, I was instead inside a completely clean and organized area. Still didn't make it any less tiresome. But it was certainly better than nothing. I tried playing a sort of game with my fingers while I waited, it wasn't much fun though.

Monutes later my head was rested on the counter with my face watching the seconds tick by on a clock. My blue orbs darting back and forth as the seconds hand moved constantly. When I heard the best resound throughout the grocer's store I practically leaped from my former dead position. The man who had just entered was dark skinned and very skinny as well. I reconized him as a boy from school.

I did attend, just some days I had to skip in order to keep our store running. When my brother, Till, was too busy with his job, he worked in the fields. Or when my was too busy with taking care of my mother. Who was sick, ill with a disease. We didn't exactly know, we couldn't afford a doctor. That was in fact what we were saving up for, with Till's job, and our store. But her condition did make it impossible for her to work.

The boy approached the counter, not even bothering to look around. Whent, I think his name was. I waved in greeting to him and he shyly smiled back. "Hey, what do you need?" It sounded slightly rude as I spoke the words in a slightly harsher tone, but he didn't seem to take notice of it. "Um.. where's the beef?" I pointed in a direction, the far right corner of the shop. He smiled in thanks before rushing off to the meat section. I strained my neck to see what he was doing, even though I knew it was futile. No people watching in that corner of the store.

As I waited for Whent to finish up, I snapped my head in the direction of the door when another strolled in. The girl was short with tan skin and brown hair. She smiled in greetings to me, before turning over to where we kept the vegetables. I watched for a bit, but it wasn't as entertaining as it had been with the pair of siblings who had entered earlier. They had people to talk to and we're making conversation as they went.

Damn, I sound like such I creep. I'm just gonna stop, Ok.

Whent's black hair appeared in myself of vision, as I turned towards him again. Under his arm he held some meat, he seemed to struggle slightly as it fell forwards and almost out of his grasp, before he secured it once more. I saw his brown eyes flickered to the girl, before darting back to meet my own. "Heya, here." He grunted as he deposited the meat onto the counter.

It was a big piece, but I had heard from passing students that he had eight siblings. Being the second oldest he too, care of them the most, his older brother was studying in the Capitol, his mother was dead and father was ill.

I took a bag out from under the counter, I assumed he didn't want to be lugging around a giant piece of protein around the District. I already knew how much it cost, I told him the price while I was struggling to find the right sized bag. I heard the shuffle of coins going around in his pocket before I heard the loud clunk of metal on the counter.

Bag in hand I stuffed the meat into it, as I counted the coins on the faded green surface of the counter. "Here you go." I stated as I handed him the bag. He took it, and with a wave as he parted, I heard the bell once more. I looked over to see where the girl was, she seemed to have moved on from the vegetables to the fruits. I saw her grab an apple before stalking back towards the counter.

"Hi, I'm Thorn." I said as I checked the prices on all of her chosen foods. "Sonya, Sonya Evergreen." She replied flatly. I saw her twirl a lock of brown as she gazed at the clock, an expression of boredom plastered across her face. I told her the price, she passed over the coins, which had been in the front pocket of her cardigan. Then without a second word she prepared exited the shop, she opened the door, the bell rang. She kept the door open with her foot, though. Sonya turned around halfway, so that only her head was in my direction, a sheepish smile on her face. "Bye." She said, with a little wave to accompany it. "Bye, Sonya." I gave a one last smile before the door closed behind her.

And I was bored again, I wish something cool would happen for once. Something _exciting._ Something that had never happened _before._

* * *

 **And we have grocery boy. So updates may become a little less frequent now, since school is starting again. Also, Liamll2000, recognize anyone?**


	18. Veronica Delaney, D7, Female, Age 12

_Veronica Delaney, District 7, Female, Age 12_

"Dad! Going out with Emma and Sara!" I yelled as I came hurtling down the stairs. "Have fun, Sweetie!" He shouted back, presumably from his office. Worked for the Capitol, but nowadays worked mostly for the mayor. He was rich, I liked living in comfort. But that didn't mean I enjoyed bragging or intentionally showing off my wealth. It felt quite silly and horribly selfish, after everyone's... Erm... Loses.

I didn't enjoy spending much time in the house. Which may sound very selfish and idiotic indeed. It was a four story mansion, with everything anyone could imagine. My friend's often call me princess, no matter how many times I tell them to stop. It just fit, and stayed. According to them. But I didn't like the house, because inside the dollhouse was an insane jungle full of boys. Boys.

That was the reason? Boys? My mother was dead, leaving me as the only female left in the house. She had died giving birth to me, often I blamed myself for this. But every time my father was there to resassure me that it wasn't. As If words could change what I thought. Puny little Words. I wish I could remeber her, she must have been beautiful. With long silky brown hair, instead of my short cropped Hazel brown. She would have green eyes, I always wanted green eyes. They were the nicest. All in all she would be the opposite of me.

I, personally, didn't attract many admirers. I had, like I mentioned, short brown hair. Couple with brown eyes and albino skin. According to my father my mother was part albino in her ancestry. I was skinny and freckled faced. How I was skinny was a complete mystery though, I aTe more a day than most families. Not something to be proud of mind you. Or well to brag about, having this much food was a miracle in itself. And was sort of proud, like I said it was mind-numbing how fortunate I was.

I had the perfect life.

I was daddy's little girl, yet I wasn't a whiny brat. I was rich, but not spoiled. I liked living in comfort, but didn't openly flaunt my personal wealth. I lived in a mansion, my entire family was alive (mind my mom), I was absolutely living the life of a princess. Like my friends seemed to call it. But no matter how perfect my life may seem I had problems, we all did I and still do don't we?

I longed for my mother, just some female figure of authority to guide me. When started changing into a woman I had no one to talk to. Sure my friends were here, they always are, but I couldn't talk to them about it. They wouldn't understand. I was little miss perfect, what did I have to complain about. In retrospect, nobody is ever satisfied with their life. Always that one petty detail you'd want to be able to change, always one. But you can't change it, because nobody is ever one hundred percent satisfied, ever, of their lies. I am living proof.

I had few friends, Emma and Saph my only two real ones. Because who would ever want to approach little miss Snob? Her daddy's spotlight her, buying new clothes and machines while they're stuck living off of garbage scraps. Instead of being liked, she was hated. Hated for something even she couldn't control, her life. So she was born into a rich family? It was fate, destiny, life. And life was unfair, the rebellion should have taught us all that. But it was frustrating. Before the rebellion the insults and 'Snobs' whispered under people's breaths were minimal. Now they were reaching a new record. 'My family is starving, how's your personal chef doing?', 'My Hrandmother died of an illness unknown to us, when did you last speak to you doctor again?', 'That's a nice fur-coat, what do you think of my rags?'.

And I hate it. That I sound selfish, that I'm being called names. That I'm being tortured the way I am.

I grabbed my purse on the way out the door. Making sure to check to see if the coins were still in the leather pouch. I small shake and I knew for certain that they were there. Smiling, I took a breath bracing for the insults and steeped outside. No one was there, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding I carefully walked to the.. Economy section of our District. Seven, Lumber.

I was walking, the cold wind whipping at my face. It was definitely annoying to say the least. And what I didn't want, I didn't take. I started walking faster, to avoid the cold. I wanted to get inside as soon as possible.

Pit was then, when a certain shop caught my eye. I suppose getting a little treat for the three of us wouldn't hurt. Stepping inside, I sighed in relief. It was warm, although why it was so cold right now was beyond me. It was suppose to be summer? Summer was usually warm, but is seemed as though this year the weather didn't want to cooperate. Shame, I always do look forward to spending days in the heat. Although the cold weather did give me an excuse to wear my favourite jacket.

White fur, with brown and green embroidery. It was more like a sweater though, or perhaps an aviator jacket of sorts. It was gorgeous and extremely comfortable. That still didn't explain the weather, yesterday's was quite lovely really, sunny with a a few clouds passing by.

Shrugging it off I looked around the shop, a bakery. The cakes looked simply Devine, I supposed I could get one for Sara, Emma and I. It would be terrific!

Walking up to the display, I bent down to look at the display. Cocking my head to the side in pure delight. I pressed my hands against the glass, before remembering that wasn't very proper. Immediately straightening up I managed to bump into someone. The back of my head hitting their chest.

I quickly turned around, apologies already flying from my mouth. Then I realized who exactly I had bumped into. "Oakley! What a pleasure to see you!" The sandy haired blonde seemed to take a minute to recognize me before a smile was plastered onto his face. "Veronica, long time no see." Nodding vigorously, I didn't even notice how his smile seemed a little too big. No matter, my smile was just big enough.

Oakley had gone to my school, he was the best. He helped my older brothers, Cory and Greg, the twins. Oakley even came over a few times. After that I always greeted him in the halls when he was passing by. Or just a little wave from the sidelines to show I acknowledge him. He even knew my other brother Ryan, who was sixteen, a year younger than the twins. Oakley was the best, like I mentioned, but I mean he really was. He was great at academics, sports, had tons of friends. It was so great to know that he was friends with me, it made me feel special, then again he was friends with everyone. Even Oakley couldn't keep people from hating me because of my status. But I hadn't spoken to him recently.

"I haven't spoken to you much since the... War." By the end, my voice came out in a soft whisper. I felt a little silly mentioning it, to my family and I it had practically all been a bad dream. But we didn't lose anyone or get hurt, we were safe and secure locked up in our house. I looked down, "I'm sorry about your loss." I managed to mutter out, apparently someone close to his family had died during the rebellion. A husband, maybe a boyfriend. Something like that, of his older sister.

"Thanks." He stated simply. Seeming to look away, his eyesight now focused intently on the chocolate cake in front of him. "What are you doing here?" I realized that my question came out slightly ruder than I intended it to be. I gave him a sheepish smile, which he didn't quite seem to catch. But I think it was Ok, he also didn't seem to take notice to my rudeness either.

"Cake for the family." That was Oakley. I nodded, "Mhm, I'm getting some for me and my friends." He turned to face me again, a small smile plastered onto his face. His eyes seeming a Little foggy. I tried not to mention it though, it didn't seem my place. I assume he was just in thought. Smiling I walked up to the counter, Oakley trailing behind. "One chocolate gateau please." The clerk nodded in return, and telling me the price. He went to fetch the cake.

He was a young boy, perhaps no older than Oakley. He had dark brown hair, and slightly tan skin. His eyes a vibrant green. "I'm just gonna box it up. Ok?" I nodded, before he gave me a small smile and dissapeared get behind the door. Chocolate cake and all, his apron swishing around madly as he did.

Turning around I saw Oakley glancing at the costumes just entering. A couple, one with tan skin and mocha hair. Little freckles on her face, her eyes wide. The boy at her side had black hair and pale skin, his green shoes seemed the only dash of colour on him. The rest of his clothes black or grey. She was latched onto his arm and he was muttering something into her ear.

"Oakley." I said, trying to get his attention off of the new arrivals. "Oh, yes, Veronica?" I would have noticed the slight strain in his voice, if I had been paying attention but I wasn't. Instead I only detected question in his response. "What cake do you want?" Oakley turned away before answering, looking almost scary as he looked down, hair covering his eyes. What seemed like a maniac expression on his face. Almost as if he reappeared the phrase all too often, it was strained and it looked as of he was laughing in my face with the response. "I don't know, I never do." And then it was all back to normal, the sweet boy was back. I smiled. I heard bustling from the kitchen and assumed it was from the clerk boxing up my cake.

When he returned I thanked him, before pulling out the required money. "Have a nice day, sir." I told him as I grabbed my recently boxed cake. "You too, name's Ethan." I smiled. "Veronica." I flashed him my pearly whites, his face cracking a grin of its own. "That's a nice name." Smiling I thanked him once more, before turning to Oakley and giving a little wave. Never noticing how it just seemed that little bit too forced. Or how his eyes didn't crinkle as he smiled. Not even how his hair seemed like a mess or his eyes desperately calling for help. Nope, all I saw was the perfect boy waving me goodbye as I couldn't wait to eat my cake.

* * *

 **Yay Veronica! She's like the nice version of Maya. Or maybe Maya's a Veronica gone bad? Nvm. So I just assumed Oakley knew Veronica because on his form it was stated he knew everyone and he was 'friends with most', the golden boy of District 7, just thought it made sense to include him here. Also I love relations between tributes, just not too many.**


	19. Aston Swifte, D6, Male, Age 18

_Aston Swifte, District 6, Age 18, Male_

"How brave, picking on children. Truly, an award winning feat. Wouldn't you agree, Cain?" I was standing there, arms folded across my chest. I was in a grey coat, holes littered the sleeves, the pockets no longer functioning. As the bottoms were torn. I waited, finally Marcus Cain turned around, lightning speed. His hand still holding the poor boy against the chipped brick wall.

It was after school, the only ones remaining in the courtyard were, of course me, Marcus Cain, a big old ugly brute of a boy, and evidently a little boy, who Marcus had chosen to be his personal punching bag for the day. The little boy looked terrified, he sported the signature pale skin of our District, his brown eyes looked terrified and swollen

"Just shut it, Swifte." He said, returning towards the boy, whose skin around the eye had started to turn an ugly shade of blue, sporting some yellow around the edges. I wasn't sure but if I just craned my head slightly, I could just about make out the start of another bruise, this one probably bigger than the boy's head. It was slightly bloody too. I internally winced, on the outside, my calm and cool facade still remained. Intact and calm. Trying to ease my discomfort, I unfolded my arms from my chest, placing them instead inside my pockets. My middle finger's tip poking out of the hole I had yet to patch back up.

"I'm just saying it hardly seems threatening, and isn't your mother worried how you always come home sporting blood?" Marcus turned around at impossible speed for someone of his stature and size. He dropped the boy who looked gratefully in my direction before scampering off. I had heard the soft crunch from when he had fallen, nothing broken I don't think, just a nasty bruise. He was Limping slightly, I sent one pitiful glance in his direction I was certain he didn't catch. The way I liked it.

It was only when a strong pair of hands lifted me off the ground, my mind following soon after, that I realized just what was happening. I was suspended above ground for a second more, before I felt my body slam into the brick wall. I could faintly taste blood in my mouth, I had most likely bit my tongue or lip during the shock. It took the breath from my lungs, I was winded for a second longer than I would have liked, I tried bending over, but the strong pair of arms around my neck stopped me from doing so. It wasn't a chokehold, I wasn't going to die, that was for sure, but it hurt like Hell.

"Listen, Swifte-" His face turning practically purple from rage. I could faintly see a vein pulsing on his head. "Oh No. You used my last name instead of my first. Now however will I survive. I'm scared, terrified." I said, rolling my eyes, my tone dead flat. His gripped tightened slightly. I gasped a little, but other than that, my face remained passive, neutral. Lots of Sarcasm, I mean Tons of it. A voice whispered in the back of my head, telling me to use more, up my game. And, for whatever reason I listened.

"Swifte-" "And there he goes again! Lord help me. I'm horrified!" The punch didn't even register in my brain until the after effect. It was a mild sting, which grew and grew 'til it made me feel like passing out. I tasted blood, and I could feel the bruise starting to form. "Shut it, Beach Blondie." I was still in shock, blood dripped from my mouth as I spoke, "I'm Platinum Blonde, not Beach, or Bleach for that matter. But I understand, differentiating shades of Blonde is another mentally challenging-" The punches then came by the dozen.

I felt more blood drip from my face, I felt him hit previously formed bruises. Then he dropped me, my coat catching on a the jagged, chipped brick wall, practically tearing it in two. I wanted to cry, it was special, in a way. But ow, my face showed only light amusement, looking morbid in the dark schoolyard, illuminated by the moon, blood dripping from my features. "Had enough, Swifte." But, even bleeding, bloodied and on the ground, I chose Sarcasm. My mouth opened more, it hurt to speak. Yet, I still did. "I'm flattered, I really am. I've always wanted the attention of a sweet boy on me." His face was red, on the verge of purple or blue.

He picked my up once more, I winced slightly as he touched my bruises, ones that he caused. I smiled at him, a smirk, a smug smile, In felt a warm drop of blood fall into my mouth. It tasted metallic, I internally grimaced. But before he could do anything, his fist had been raised, a shout rang across the courtyard, a clean cut voice true throughout the silence. "Stop it, Marcus." Standing there was a girl with brown hair and blue eyes. Her freckles barely showing in the pale light. Standing there was Lexi, my best friend. Who for whatever reason still put up with me, no matter how much sarcasm I bled a minute.

Marcus looked up, he didn't like Lexi, no, no, he hated Lexi. But Lexi was also someone you did not want to mess with, she knew things, he dropped me with a sickening crack. My grey coat soaked with blood, now not enough, a small puddle, not even, starting to form underneath me. The pain was unbearable, but by the smug smile I shot at Marcus you never would have guessed. "You're lucky Swifte. But now I guess we both know who wears the pants in your relationship."

He gestured to Lexi, who was now helping me up from the ground. Steadying me with an arm. I shrugged the question off, but I swore I could see a faint blush gracing Lexi's cheeks. Probably just the light. I barked out a response, "Have fun at your afternoon tea with the third graders tomorrow!" He turned around "I'm going to murder you, SWifte." "I'm practically bursting from the excitement!" I hollered back. He looked about ready to run back and pummel me to the ground, but Lexi shot him a glare, then grumbling to himself he stalked off. I stared at Lexi, giving her a weak smile. Shaking her head, and narrowing her eyes, she glared at me. Still smiling I spoke, "What?" She continued to glare.

"Aston, I was so Freakin' worried! You can't do that to me. And-And when I finally do find you, you're-you're bloodied and looking like you're about to get your face smashed in by Marcus Cain. And all I'm thinking is that you're going to die. And I freak, because you're talking and I see the blood dripping down your face and-" I looked down. "Sorry, but I can't help it." Sarcasm ran through my blood, and raked my bones, it had become a habit, a way, a facade. "Yes you can, Aston this is serious, please just drop the act, I'm worried-" "Well, don't be. Go home, Lex, and go play dolls or dress up or whatever the fuck it is you do for fun." I retorted, my face looking down to meet her eyes, they were blue and striking, I realized with a jolt.

I felt bad as soon as I heard her try several times to start a sentence, but always being choked off or ending it too soon. We fell into a silence, she was waiting for me to talk, I realized. But I didn't. "Aston, please talk to me." She looked desperate. "I-" I started, she looked so vulnerable, I felt my cold face break for a second. "Without the sarcasm, please." I heard her fragile speak say. Her voice was ragged and her nose was tinged red, from the cold or tears I didn't know. And I couldn't look at her then I would, I would drop it. And I couldn't do that, Sarcasm was my mask, my shield, my wall. It had become, sometime over the years, part of me.

"Sarcasm is my religion." I stated, looking at the moon illuminating her face. "Just stop please Aston, I know this isn't you-" I turned to stare at her, she looked so sincere, but the only thing that came out was my shield. "You don't know the first thing about me." I went to turn away, meant to walk home maybe. Then I heard the sniffles, actual sniffles. I turned and I saw a single tear escape Lexi. And I froze, I mean mentally froze. She was crying, I made her cry. I made my best friend, the only person who ever loved me, cry. And suddenly I felt horrible.

"I know better about you than anyone, Aston. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if I knew you better than you knew yourself. I know how you always tie your left shoe, followed then by your right. How you always twirl you're pencil when you think. You really wanted a cat when you were younger, did you know that? Or remember? You really wanted a job in the Capitol, and every day you would tell me how good you'd be at it. Until one day you came to school, a black eye, it was swollen and I remember wanting to cry, and you told me that dreams were stupid. And I should wake up from mine. You were bullied as a kid, in turn it gave you this determination like no other and pride to stand up for others, because you knew how hard it was to do it for yourself."

"Lexi-"

"I know that when you were younger you desperately wanted a cat, for whatever reason. And then I told you I Was allergic, and you stopped and said you didn't want a cat anymore. And I felt so lucky to have a friend like you. You used to brush my hair for me, because my mom was dead and my dad was never around. So you taught yourself how to do a braid. You used to think sweaters or coats were hot, sweaty and we should really just wear two shirts instead. Your dad gave a you a grey sweater for you birthday, do you remember that? He gave you that ugly, old, tattered, bloodied sweater you are currently clutching like it's your tie to the world. After you dad died in that bombing, you wore it every single day and I don't think you even realized it. I know that Your mother's burns make you uncomfortable because they remind You of just how close you'd been to death."

I just stared, in absolute complete shock. How?

"You avoid her, and now somehow you developed this _stupid_ idea that she hates you. When no one could love you more. After the war you turned into this bitter, sarcastic, hard boy. Because you were scared to open up and get hurt again. Because you knew that nothing hurt more. Youput on this mask, this facade," I gave her a quivering sucked look, my face bloodied, tears prickling the edge of my eyes. They were wide, questioning, scared and terrified. How in the world did she find out? How does she know? I'd done everything to stop anyone from finding out. Upon seeing my facial expression of pure horror, she simply laughed. A cold, sarcastic, anger filled bark.

"Oh, you think I don't know? I can tell, Aston, I'm your best friend. And you it on and it makes you unbearable, because you look and talk so sure and deadpan everything. But when I look into your eyes the only thing I can see is a broken, lost boy wanting some security and love. You're bitter and cold and the war changed you. You used to be sweet and I stuck around because I knew that deep Down you were still that sweet little boy I had met in kindergarden. But I guess, I thought wrong. Because this stupid mask you put on, I think you've worn it for so long, you're starting to believe it's actually part of your face."

I was stunned, frozen, and for the first time in years, I ducked my head because I could feel the tears threatening to spill. I tried to stop them, I truly did. I closed my eyes, but I could feel the wet prickling my eyes. And finally whnI didn't seem to be able to hold it in anymore I felt the first tear spill. It slowly dripped down, before another one followed, then another. And suddenly it felt as though I could no longer control it. So I cried, my tears were spilling rushing out, pooling out.

My breath was shallow and ragged. I buried my face in my hands, because she was right, she was absolutely one hundred percent right. And I didn't want her to see me like this, I truly didn't. I fell to my knees, my sobs the only sound in the blissfully silent environment. I could feel my throat burning, aching from the sounds. They were uneven and uncontrolled, from lack of use. I cried and cried my tears were spilling out, mixing with the blood that was too dripping down my face. Everything I had held in was coming out now, and it as consuming. I cried for my mom, my dad, my sweater, the war, my life, and Lex.

I looked up at Lexi, removing my hands from my face. It was wet, bloodied, it was horrifying in the moonlight. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I shakily went onto one knee, "oh, Aston." I heard her say. She dropped to her knees too, and she just held me. She was muttering words of encouragement, and I cried into her shirt, wetting her pink sweater with blood and tears. And then I straightened myself out, took a breath, still ragged, and leaned in. My lips barely brushing hers, Iheard her gasp, and I felt like I was in Heaven, then I pulled away. I straightened us out, my hands on her shoulders, gripping them tightly.

"You're right, Lex, you honestly know me better than I know myself. And now I also know that you deserve better. You're the hidden Angel among us, and you deserve so much better. I love you, Goodnight, Lex." And then I stalked off. Leaving the girl alone in the courtyard, a single tear sliding down her face, and finally hitting the ground. The silent _plop_ of the tear was the only sound in the startling quiet environment. She stood there, silently touching her lips trying to process what had just happened. And I too felt my tears, my face still sticky. And I wished more than anything in the world to feel happiness once more.

 _"We accept the love we think we deserve_."


	20. Oliver Seadown, D4, Male, Age 14

_Oliver Seadown, District 4, Male, Age 14_

"Well, little brother, it seems as though I am the winner of today's game." Ursula, my older sister by two years, stated smugly showing me her cards. In total they added up to twenty. I'm only one away from the maximum of twenty-one, we were in our family's ship, the cellar. Playing cards, more specifically blackjack.I smirked at her, getting ready to reveal my very own hand.

"Actually, Ursula, it seems as though _I_ am the winner of today's game." I stated, practically even smugger than she previously had. Smirking at her, showing off my beautiful twenty-one. Leaning over the table to get a better look, I could see her face go from smug smile, to a pouty frown. "Seriously? Again?" She said, groaning as she slumped back into her chair. Throwing her cards, most fell onto the table, but I was fairly certain I saw a _Kings of Hearts_ fall onto the ship's lower decks.

My best friend since forever, Casimir Kava, was also present. He started laughing as Ursula reluctantly started to pull out the ten dollars she had bet against me. Grumbling and groaning about, 'lucky cheating bastard'. Very amused I looked over at Casimir, who looked on the verge of near laughter. He in turn, had only bet two dollars against me, knowing fully well that I would beat him in the end. he smiled and winked at me, I grinned back. Before nudging my head in the direction of Ursula and making a a face. I heard another grumble, a female grumble. "How do you even win continuously at blackjack? It's a game; based entirely on luck!" Started Ursula, I simply sent her a smug smile before replying.

"Ah, but a magician never reveals his secrets." I said, flexing my fingers and doing a small trick using the cards I had previously been holding. Taking the money from her outstretched hand. Before looking as Casimir, who gave me a sheepish smile, ("Thought you might forget.") before pulling out two coins from his breast pocket. And tossing them over, I caught one, but the other fell off the small table we had been playing on. Dropping down to pick it up, I also managed to retrieve the _King of Hearts_ we had dropped earlier. I take out my coin pouch from my pocket, and put both coins as well as the bills in to it.

"Here's the thing, Oliver, you're not a magician. You're just an insanely lucky boy who should really have entered his name into that draw to get those shirts eight years ago." Said Casimir as soon as my head popped back out from under the table. "Cas, are you seriously still hooked on that?" Said Ursula before I had even opened my mouth. I sent her a glare before setting down the card and turning to face Casimir. "Cas, like you said, that happened eight years ago. I was six." I state bluntly, giving him a clear, 'What the Hell is wrong with you?' Look. He merely shrugged before snatching his cards from the table. "One more round?" He asked hopefully.

Chuckling, I said, "No Cas, we all know I'm just gonna win, and you'll lose even more money before you eventually go broke and I become a millionaire." Rolling his eyes, he grabs both mine and Ursula's cards before shuffling them and handing them back to me. "You could've just said no, no need to be such an Ursula about it." He was smiling mischievously by the end of his sentence, staring at Ursula from the corner of his eye. An offended, "Hey!" Comes from the left side of the table. We both turn simultaneously to smirk at her. "What's that supposed to mean anyways? Such an 'Ursula'."

He gives he sly smile, "Not sur I want to tell you." She gives a cry of frustration before replying. "It's not like I care anyways." She grumbles mostly to herself as she slumps back into the back of her chair and slides down. She looked like me, I decide in that moment. Looking at her at, arguably, her worst. We both share the same sandy blonde hair, and ocean blue eyes. Yet her nose and lips are very different from my own. And her skin tone has always been slightly lighter. "Um... Earth to Oliver." Next thing I know, Casimir's hand is wave wildly in front of my face. Snapping me out of my thoughts.

When he finishes I make sure that all of the cards all the same direction. The cards may have been old and tattered, but they were still mine. I stuffed them into my back pocket, securing them using an elastic.

Smirking at my best friend and sister, I get up. I take out my coin pouch, jingle it, before speaking. "Wanna spend _my_ winnings?" Ursula got up so quickly she nearly knocked over her chair. It was an old family antique, it was slightly broken, and it definitely did not need a hyperactive Ursula practically throwing it to the ground. I winced slightly at her excitement, "Um.. Is that even a question? Hell, yes." She stated, I shrugged, before turning to face Casimir. Whop merely nodded, a small smile plastered onto his face. I cocked an eyebrow in his direction, he just nudged his head towards Ursula. Who looked about as excited if someone had told her we were getting a puppy.

And Ursula liked dogs.

I started up the stairs, which lead to the upper deck of the ship. "Guess you owe Cassian five bucks, Urse." Cassian was our nine year old brother. Who spent most of his time helping our mom in the kitchen. Being to young to help with the nets like Ursula and I. Ursula glared at me. before letting out, quite possibly the loudest groan I had heard all night. "Damn, I totally forgot about that. Great, now even he'll have earned more money than me." She buried her face in her hands, sliding them down her face, before she finally started stalking her way to the stairs. She brushed past me, nudging me with her shoulder and sending me a look which consisted of her sticking her tongue out in my general direction. I heard Casimir snickered, before shutting up and sending me an amused smile once I turned around and glared at him.

"But, ah, what exactly did Ursula bet on?" Ursula sent him a look, over both mine and her shoulders. "Oliver." she said, her voice steady and threatening. I seen her an apologetic smile, which turned out to be more of a smirk and looked behind me to face Casimir.

"She bet that she'd win, at the least, five bucks." I hear him laugh. "She actually thought that you'd lose?" I nod, chuckling to myself slightly. I hear him laugh. He pushes in front of me and grabs her shoulder. "You actually thought he'd lose?" He asked incredulously. Shaking his head and biting his tongue. A trick he used to stop from bursting out laughing. I cocked my head in confusion, was the idea of her thinking of me losing actually that amusing? I shrugged, guessing so.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it, Oliver's a God at cards." She says, and although I can't see her face I'm fairly certain that she's rolling her eyes. She shrugs off Casimir's hand. And started walking just a tad faster, I wasn't sure if Casimir caught it, but I most certainly did. "Glad you finally admit it, big sis." You could practically hear the arrogance in my voice, even though it was mostly completely mock. I smiled, Cards were one of the only things I was actually good at. not just good, either, the best. I just wish i were old enough to properly gamble. so for now, I was stuck gambling with my friends and sister.

Soon thereafter, we reached the top of the ship. The sun was practically blinding when compared to the pale lighting of the ship's cellar. I squinted, before my eyes adjusted to the sudden light. "Is the sun trying to kill us?" Came Casimir's voice. I looked over at him, his blonde hair looking slightly windblown. Although from what, I wasn't exactly sure.

"Look, there's mom and dad." said Ursula, pointing across the deck of the ship, towards our parents. "Time to tell them we're going shopping, Olive." I rolled my eyes at the nickname, sighing quietly, before crossing my arms and craning my neck to look her in the eye. "I thought I told you not to call me that?" She shrugged. Before pointing once again towards our parents and sending me a look. "I don't get why you're not doing this, you're the older sibling if I can recall." I spoke up, before starting towards our parents. "because they're your winning, mister _God_ _of cards_." I trudged forward, deciding not to answer. I felt Casimir nudge me, before putting a finger to his lips and pointing towards my parents. I looked, they seemed to be in an argument. I couldn't hear them, and evidently I don't think that they'd heard us. Our little brother Cassian. was no where to be seen.

Although I assumed he was somewhere in the captain's quarters. My thoughts only proven right when we saw the door open, and a little head poke out of it. Cassian had our family's common ocean blue eyes, but instead of having inherited our mother's sandy blonde hair, he instead was born with our father's bronze, brown color of hair. I waved to him, and he waved back, hes smiled his big goofy grin. It was missing a few of his baby teeth on the top, but it just seemed to add to his angelic and bay like face. before shutting the door once more and going back to most likely playing with his action figures or something of the sort.

I turned then, my attention back towards our parents inching closer. They were situated on the raised part of the ship, the captain's quarters situated under neath them, and where the wheel of the ship rested as well. We were under them, currently out of sight. "We hear so much from other sailors, Stephen, this could just be another one of those stupid tales." I heard my mother say, obviously trying to reassure my father on something. She sounded hopeful though as well. I craned hmy head slightly to hear better. "You think they would joke about something as horrific as this? Children will die, Thera." My eyes widened at that, I turned to Casimir and mouthed, 'What? Die?' to him. he merely replied with a troubled look and shrug.

"These Games, do you think, our Ursula or Oliver will be chosen?" She sounded scared, more scared than I had even heard her before. I suddenly became very worried. I turned to Ursula, why had our names been brought up? I was scared, worried, Ursula seemed to express the same. "Stephen-" Deciding there, that I didn't want to hear anymore, I made a big show of clobbering up the stairs. As though, I had just exited the basement. "Mom, dad, can me, Ursula and Casimir go to the market?" I had seen them both stop talking immediately, as soon as they heard footsteps. They both looked worried, my father's face seemed a little whiter than usual. "Sure, honey, anything. Here, take this." She threw me another little pouch of money, slightly confused, before I saw the sad look on her face. I decided not to mention anything.

Still confused, I walked back down to Ursula and Casimir. "What was that all about?" Came Ursula's steady voice. I shrugged, "Don't know." Casimir looked pale, "Can we just forget about it. Whatever it was, it wasn't good." I looked into his green eyes and softened, no matter how much I wanted to further pursue the subject. This was _Casimir_ , for God's sake. my best friend since _forever._ "Sure, let's just go shopping. Forget it, if it's important we'll find out later." Said Ursula, before a word could even exit my mouth. She was looking at the waves, hitting the _Seafire._

"Yeah, let's just go shopping." I concluded.

* * *

 **Oliver everyone.**


	21. Leilani Tareyn, D9, Female, Age 17

_Leilani "Lei" Tareyn, Female, District 9, Age 17_

"What'd you just say, sorry, Lili, wasn't paying attention." Lili rolled her eyes fondly, a small smile prominent on her face. Lili was small for her age, seventeen like Leilani. While Leilani was most definitely not. Short, that is. She was tall with thick blonde hair and foggy brown eyes, Lili was short, red-headed with thousands of freckles dotting her face and arms. Leilani often had to look down a little while speaking to her, really she was that short, or perhaps Leilani was that tall. She wasn't exactly sure.

Lili, let out a yawn, "I asked you if you were tired yet, I sure am." I laughed, before turning around to face her. Her red-hair spread out on the grass. We were both currently lying down on our backs in Lili's backyard. My blonde hair was tangled in the grass, but I didn't feel like it was worth the bother to untangle it.

Lili and I had been friends for six years, five months and four days (Lili kept count). We had met at school, before the war, but only by a year. I'm tough, in a way. Bullying, when Lili's and I's friendship is brought up, that's the first word that comes to mind. I've always taken pity on victims of bullying, always. She was just a little eleven year-old, and I felt bad. So yes, I took a few punches for it and maybe my wrist was sprained in the process. But in the end, I was rewarded with a friend, something, which I will never admit, was lacking in.

In school I had been labeled as "Sharp", "Hostile". One look and most know to shut up. Most, Some dimwits were just too dense to understand that fact. Poor souls.

I'm ardopted, raised in a family of five. My parents of course, my adoptive older brother, Paris, who was two years older than me and my little brother Vaylin, who's six years younger than me.

I looked at Lili, who was giving me a bemused look. I smiled at her sheepishly, before answering her question, "Sorry, got lost in thought. And no, not tired yet. Give me another ten minutes." She gave me a toothy grin, I sent a crooked one back. "You sure are thinking a lot today, Lei, 'bout what? Oooh, is it a boy?"

I was just settling back into my comfortable position of staring at the sky was she asked the question. "Boys! Have you even met me?" She shrugged, before propping herself onto her elbows, in turn I got up, struggling slightly because of my tangled hair, and sat crossed-legged on the grass. The blades of green tickling my bare legs, currently wearing shorts. "Just thought I'd ask." She grinned sheepishly in my direction, and then letting her elbows drop, so that she was back onto her back.

Her red hair like fire against the green.

"But seriously though, Lei, what is it?" She asked, concern lacing through her much more serious tone. My foggy brown orbs, blinked twice before surrendering to her questions. She would find out in the end anyways, she always did. "Mom." She gave me a knowing look, a look of pure pity strewn across her face. It was sympathetic. I didn't like pity, but from Lili, there seemed to be exceptions from every rule.

"Oh, Lei, it's Ok, it'll get better. Promise." _Don't make promises you can't keep_. Is exactly what I wanted to say, instead all that came out was a pathetic sob, a hitch in my throat, followed then by a slow sob, and soon a tear fell.

And internally I cursed myself for being so weak. By then tears were running down my face, they weren't really wet, but instead they were more sticky. Instead of actually falling, they clouded up my vision and obscured my eyesight. And it was so pathetic.

Lili had quickly got up for her position on the grass, to comfort me. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, and I hurried my head into the crook of her neck. I tried to muffle the sobs, to help my situation, to try and pretend I wasn't as weak as I was currently displaying.

I didn't cry, or rarely did. I was tough, stubborn and opinionated. But all that seemed to fly out the window as I cried, a horrible, pathetic wailing sound which resonated off Lili and back into my throat. The tears were slowly wetting Lili, and the collar of her shirt. But she didn't seem to care. She was always there for me in times lik these, she would always say when I brought this up, " _Just like you were there for me when I was about they beaten to a pulp by Donkey-faced, Janice Yavery."_

Point being, I didn't cry, but sometimes so much emotions build up, that you just cry. And other times a certain subject will forever move you go tears.

Mine was the subject of my mom.

When I was ten, my mom became mentally sick. It was terrifying, I was young and in the middle of the night I would wake to my mother screaming, these horrible sounds of pure fear. Of monsters, beast, she would scream and scream. Constant nightmares haunted her, she was paranoid, too scared to even close her eyes.

 _The monsters might come out._

And it scarred me for life, I was a child, and it as horrifying. Vaylin was too young at that point, Paris slept most of the time at friends' houses. Because he couldn't take the screams, the horrible sounds which e hoed through the whole house and shattered his very heart when hearing them. He just couldn't take the pain.

The only me who could keep her in line was my father. He would comfort her in bed and when she called herself a monster for driving away her son, he'd tell everything she needed to hear. He'd protect against her monsters, the ones formed inside her head and subconscious.

When he was executed for 'Volatile Speech' my mother fell. He called the president sadistic, sick, cruel. And he was killed for it. She fell deep into her own mind, her monsters, and she hadn't had any hand to grab onto to help. So instead she fell into the bottomless pit of her own mind, still falling to this very day. The bottom, the escape, the only real one being the single matter they would forever refuse to consider.

I became mother to Vaylin and caretaker for our mother. Paris had gone to study to become a Psychiatrist. We couldn't afford one ourselves, so he took it up himself to become one. Mom needed help and he was going to do anything to help her do just that.

 _I'll help mom, you'll see. I promise to help her._

He was currently in the Capitol, and in her own odd way I was proud. Things were getting better, during his breaks he would help, apply what he learned to our mother. Try and help with the nightmares. Now her screams are getting slightly better, only when he's around though.

Whenever he leaves there as gut-wrenching as the last. Poor Vaylin is now old enough to finally hear them for what they are. Pure pain. Each night he comes to my room asking if he can sleep in the my bed. I say yes, as his big sister I am responsible. I pretend not to notice the small sniffles and hitched sobs coming from beside me during night. And when she screams I try to shield his ears from the worst of them.

I quit school. I had to support my family and it was just how life was going to have to work. I'd practically forgot ho to read, barely at a passing level before and now it was barely anything. I used to complain about school, but I longed for it more than anything. Even just a shrivel of my old life back would have been greatly appreciated. But I knew that there was no point mulling over Yesterday, when the Today was so hard to survive on its own.

I close my eyes, trying not to let anymore tears spill through. My vision is still foggy, I furiously wipe away my tears and tear away from Lili's grip. "I'm fine." Lili just nods, she understands, one of the many reasons that I keep her around. "Wanna head back inside for some tea? Chamomile?" She gestures to behind her, to the small brown house behind the both of us. I nod, "Thanks, Lili." She smiles a me, it's sad and sympathetic. But I just smile back. "What're friends for? Hmm?" I laugh, though it comes out as slightly strained and hoarse. I try to cover it up by coughing, she seems to notice but not comment. Nothing gets by her does it?

She gets up, and I follow suite, managing to catch up to be beside her as she walks. We don't speak. "How's Paris, doing well in his studies?" Her red hair is blowing behind her in the wind, and at one point I swear a strand flicks my ear. "Well, he's super stressed though, or was last time I checked in with him." I state automatically, the words tumbling out of my mouth as the mandatory response to the question.

"When was his last visit?" She inquires, forcing herself to make conversation. I shrug, thinking back on it, I really didn't know when he had last visited. Days and days seemed to either fly by or go unnecessarily slow. Without our clock (had stopped working weeks ago) our time has just been to survive one day after the other.

I worked at the wheat fields, along with most of out District, to help pay for my mother, Vaylin and I. He always wants to help, and he does, just not quite with jobs quite as difficult. Not that it really was, just a leftover age restriction on jobs from before the rebellion.

I shivered, just the sound of it made me cold with strange irrational fear. Because I knew that no one had walked out of that the same. I, for example, was colder, more closed off. And Lili seemed to want to cherish every moment they spent together, always. It had been endearing the first few times, now it was just plain Obnoxious. But the war had changed the for better or worse, I wasn't going to be able to change anything.

Lili opened the door to the house, her flame hair falling lightly down her back into small waves. The interior was cozy. A small space. Lili's brother was sitting at the table, reading something of some sort. I felt an irrational pang of jealousy fly through me. I could barely read anymore, lost hat ability long ago. And the sight of Lili's red-headed, curly haired brother reading a book make my blood boil. And slowly, I pushed it down. It was stupid, getting jealous. He was twenty-two.

"Gettng tea for Lei." Lili explained to him when he had set his book down an cocked a questioning brow in their general direction. Lil started walking to the Abington. I had been over so many times that I knew where most was, we moved like a team she got the kettle I the cups. I saw Lili's brother Mark, go back to his reading. And suddenly I felt it again that nagging voice at the back of my head screaming. How unfair it was.

And no matter how much I argued my mother and I were nothing alike, maybe just sometimes I, Leilani, knew how she felt. With her late night spasm of hysteria and internal battles. Sometimes I knew exactly how she felt.

* * *

 **Sorry this took so long. Gods, one word school.**


	22. Thread Flynn, D8, Male, Age 15

_Thread Flynn, Male, District 8, Age 15_

"Here you are." I smiled at the two orphans in front of him. Both looking painfully starved and tired. My smile was sad, sympathetic. They looked no older than twelve and eight respectively. The girl, was holding the little boy protectively, while he clung to her like there was no tomorrow. The girl was vegetarian, I had served her enough meals to know that for a fact.

I worked in a kitchen for the refugee camps for the rebels. I cooked for them, all those who had lost everything during the rebellion. Family, money, property. Casualties of war. And it made me depressed thinking about it all. I was a small boy, with slightly wandering thoughts. I'd get caught up in something and was easily distracted. And I definitely knew how hard it was to lose your parents.

I had been an orphan since I was four, after both my parents had died. I wasn't sure how, or at least couldn't remember. I'd been taken in by the Morris family, two twin sons and a mother. The father long since dead. One miscarriage for a girl. The name hadn't even been decided before the father had left, forever. Rafe and Danniel, Danny, were my best friends, always had been always will be. The twins may be confusing at times, but in the end it didn't matter. We were brothers. Even if some, were not by blood.

They were blonde, like their mother, Danny's slightly tinted brown. Which was one of the only ways to tell them apart, as well as Rafe having brown eye, one blue. It got confusing at times, but really it was all fun by the end of the day. Playing guess which twin, and causing absolute havoc for their mother.

I loved watching the rebels, not exactly loved, but found it strangely interesting. The way a war could change you. The way you acted with others and how you treated yourself. I didn't know, the Morris' and I didn't take part in any of the fighting.

None of us wanted to lose anything more than we had to. No baby sisters, fathers or mothers. It was selfish, and we had all believed in the rebel cause, but no participation. Not even in the slightest. Sometimes I would wonder if it weren't for people like me, people too cowardly to fight, that maybe the rebels would have won the war. And all of this could have been prevented. And that thought made me absolutely sick to the stomach.

But as I watched the little kids without family, all huddled together, it made me wish that I had done something. Even lifted a finger to help instead of hiding. Hiding away from the war and the death. "Thread, pay attention."

My little bubble of thought was popped as I heard the endearing voice of Rafe cut through my daydreams. I looked towards him, and he gestured with his finger towards the next man in line, impatiently waiting for me to serve him. He was rail and old, he was balding and of the white hair he had left, it was slowly turning to white. He looked like even the slightest bit of weight would crush him, and I softened.

I handed to him his tray, complete with meat and some vegetables of the smalles proportions. He gave me a small smile before stalking off towards somewhere to eat. I watched him go before turning to face the next.

The line was huge, I could barely see the end and if we wanted to serve all of them, we had to give away the most minuscule amounts. It made me sad, thinking about it. Especially since by the end, after hours of waiting for food, you might only get two carrots and maybe a single rib bone. But I suppose it would be better than nothing.

It was brain numbing, mindless. Just scooping some vegetables putting them on a tray before then moving on. Over and over and over again. And then, the process reapeats itself. We don't give food everyday, but we do provide camps. Camps which are run completely by volunteers, the peacekeepers know, but we definitely don't have the highest security. Most of them let it slide out of pity. Or at least they do in the poorer section of the District.

With the different securities, District 8 could practically be considered two Districts. One where the rebels could got to camps, or anyone could really, who had lost everything. And the part where they would kill you sight for anything of the sort.

Over time I had been able to recognize most people, regonition of faces and names. Like the Three Siblings huddled in the corner? Their names were Anna, Ella and George. Anna was the oldest, even though George was the tallest.

So when the girl with her golden hair strung up on a crown braid, a set of twins behind her, came with their trays waiting for food. I actually lookEd up in confusion. She was new, we rarely received new refugees.

She bit her lip, her eyes darting from one twin to the other. When I noticed the lack of parents, I softened. They didn't look necessarily skinny, but he could tell by the bags under the girls eyes, and how much of a mess she looked that they were just as much in need as food as the rest of the refugees surrounding them.

"I'm Rosemary, this is Petra and Cora." I had just handed over the tray to the first twin, whether she be Petra or Cora, I wasn't sure. "We're... New." I gave her an apologetic smile. Her face seemed to be in pain, just recalls the memory. I knew that feeling, it never hurt to be comforted.

Even though after a while 'sorry' became as meaningless as the clouds.

Sometimes though, you just didn't know what else to say. And as meaningless as sorry seemed, I just didn't want to say nothing."Thread Flynn." I said smiling as I handed her, her tray. She smiled and when I gave town number two her tray she, the twin, said "Thank you." It was calm and soft, barely above a whisper as if she were afraid her voice wouldn't work. Or that she didn't want to speak at all.

I saw the first twin nudge the second twin gesturing something with her hands. The second twin nodded, and then turned to face me completely. "Cora says thank you, too." She said. I smiled. "Your welcome." As they walked away, I switched my brain once again into what I liked to call "factory mode".

Cora seemed to be mute, selective mute or born mute he wasn't sure. Either way he pitied them, another family, another set of children torn apart and forced to grow up quicker than necessary because of the war.

The next refugees came and went. Each one looking scarred, frail and weak. When the final refugee came, I gave her what was remaining. Three little greens and some chicken. I saw her visible dissapointement, and refused to feel too bad about it. I had rationed the food, but it still never seemed to be enough.

Rafe, Danny and I cleaned up and collected the remaining trays before making our way home for the night. We walked together in the darkness. Danny was ahead of us, us being Rafe and I, slowly slugging behind. "So how was today?" Danny asked at one point, seemingly trying to strike up conversation. "Agony." I deadpanned.

Which wasn't a complete lie. I hated seeing all the broken families and starving elders, but feeding them just made me happy still. Danny snorted, and I heard a muffled laugh come from beside me. I grinned at the reactions. "It was cool, to be honest. There's a newbie. Name's Rosemary." I said, after the conversation slowly fell into silence. "Really? We hardly get anyone new anymore." Said Danny.

Rafe shrugged. "The blonde, right? With the twins?" I nodded, confirming the boy's assumptions. "Cora and Petra, I think." I said, with a shrug on the end. "No parents I'm guessing." Said Rafe after a moment's silence. I nodded. It was an uncomfortable question, considering the situation, but I brushed it off. You had to acknowledge those things, into ring them or denying the wasn't helping anything.

Danny made a humming noise.

Soon enough after we had all fallen into a comfortable silence, the Mprra house seemed to peak through the darkness. The Morris household was a gray brick building, with a chipped wooden roof and a missing door. Long since replaced by a green curtain.

Danny rushed up the stone patheway, the boy always had been quite impatient, and burst end through the curtain. Rafe chuckled to himself at his twin's antics before following after. I was the last one to enter, I smiled to myself at myfamily before walking in myself.

No matter who I was, the Morris household would always be home. I smiled upon seeing the cracked wooden furniture we had had long since before the war. The little curtains blocking the window, some tattered and some barely converting any at all. But for some reason Mrs. Morris refused to take down. I smiled, thinking just how lucky I truly was.

No waiting in line every morning for breakfast, forced to live I dirty camps and beefed the minimum food to survive. We donated many of our provisions to the cause, but still it never seemed to be enough.

Soon our District would die off, leaving only those wealthy enough to survive. That and when the peacekeeper uniforms no longer needed to be knit and sewn by hand, forcing thousands to lose their jobs and only income avaible, would they really start to die out.

Mrs. Morris worked at one, for dresses though. Apparently in high demand for the Capitol. She would always come home after the boys, doing late night shifts to support them. Rafe and Danny worked part time at the factory, while I would always continue at the camps. I was the best cook they had at the moment, despite being only fifteen. Some people were just born to talk and to cook.

"Making dinner." I said as I took out a pot. It was quite ironic, coming home from a day of cooking for charity to cooking again once modem this time for ourselves. Our very lives seemed to revolve around it. Not really though, that was sarcasm.

"Kay!" Shouted back Danny from his position underneath myself. I was getting the ingredients for stew from the top cupboard, while Danny was getting was getting the plates from the bottom. We were moving in sync, passing things to one another and maneuverin around to fit each other's needs. Rafe was in his room somewhere. Most likely either making his bed or getting something. The latter being the more likely choice.

We were lucky and happy, and I was scarred for how much time we could continue being so. And when he stopped being so lucky, then hundreds of refugees would to. And like I've mentioned previously, our District would almost completely die out.

* * *

 **Struggled with this one. Little Thread's giving me some tough times. Lol, I just kept imagining him wearing this little chef hat and apron. XD**


	23. Velkan Findlay, D3, Male, Age 17

_Velkan Findlay, District 3, Male, Age 17_

"Hello? Is Electra home?" I stare at the boy in front of me. He has bronze hair, lovely blue eyes, a strong build, he's pretty tall. Or at least, taller than my 5'10. His blue orbs are currently roaming behind me, looking no doubt, for my older cousin Electra.

"No." This is a lie. I sort of just stand there, I'm not exactly the best with people, a little shy at times. We sort of just awkwardly stand in the doorframe. I fidget nervously with my hands, wondering if he's going to leave anytime soon. I hope he does. Before you ask why I lied let me tell you, I've been scaring away potential boyfriends for my cousins for years.

Way before the rebellion even started. But now that that's happened, it's just given me even more the reason to do so. None of us are safe, no bother getting attached now. I don't understand how any of them can possibly still feel the need to pursue a romantic relationship after Everythng we've lost. Plus, none of these boys are anywhere near Electra's league. The boy runs a hand through his hair nervously, biting down his lower lip and dodging my questioning eyes.

"Well, erm, tell her that Troy stopped by and maybe-" He starts fidgeting, and pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. I watch as he scrambles to try and write something down, his information most likely. I plaster a smile onto my face, which is half real and half forced. Is that even a thing?

"No problem, Troy." I cut off his mad ramblings, I watch as he pauses for a second, his pencil still firmly in his hand. A look of slight shock plastered onto his face. I smile with mock sincerity. His blue orbs giving me a look of pure confusion.

"Um-" He raises a finger, his mouth clearly preparing to speak.

I close the door before he can utter another word, waving to him slightly as the mahogany wood shields him from my view. "Bye!" I shut, loud enough for it to be heard from the other side of the door. I sighed once the door was closed, boys are getting harder to chase off.

I look out the window, to see him still standing there in shock. I make a gesture with my hand, telling him to go. He quickly regains his senses, gives me a strains smile before walking off. His walk turning into a jog halfway through. Until finally he scampers off both pathetically and frantically.

I smile, remembering things before the war. When scaring off boys was just a joke. My uncle and I keep it up for, I don't know, closure? The war had been horrible, absolutely horrible. We in District 3, well we used to be a Capitol favourite believe it or not. Until the rebellion, because boy did we rebel. We rebelled against them, their own darling District 3.

We had been confident that we could win, it had been a civil war in the Districts. And when District 2 finally came to clean us up, well we lost. We had been prepared, all sorts of gadgets, gizmos. Yet, they had strength, pure brute strength. After that, well, we definitely lost the title of Capitol favourite. Now all of our lives were living Hells. Even though technically I hadn't rebelled. My family and I had been neutral.

By family, I mean uncles, cousins. That type of thing, considering I do live with them. And in my books, those who you live with, survive with and grow with are your family. Well, I didn't always live with my uncle. I, erm, used to live with my family. Like parents, siblings. That kind of family, now I live with my cousins.

When I was six, both of my parents had died from a rebel attack on the factory they worked at. They'd burned it to the ground. It was al anyone could talk about the following days to come. I can remeber my mom telling me that they'd be right back ("Just going to check on a few blue prints.") My dad ruffling my hair, mom planting a light kiss to my forehead. I remeber clutching my green stuffed animal when my next door neighbour, Simon, delivered the news.

I'd been six. _Six._ Back then, it'd been when rebel attacks were a rare occurrence. Happening every few weeks, and never doing much damage. There'd been too much to risk and not a good enough reward. We weren't showing the Capitol anything, they'd had stopped eve very last one of 'em by the time you could say _rebel._

I barked out a laugh at the memory. Oh, how times had changed. Of course when District 13 came out with the bombs, the plans, we all followed. But I couldn't, I couldn't bring myself to side with them. The rebels had killed my parents. But the Capitol were monsters. We remained neutral.

When I'd found out about my parents I don't remember crying, oddly enough. My metrics seemed numb and blurry. All I can ever remeber is the pain, the pure numb pain. Where the whole world shuts down, until all that's left is you, and the pain that you're feeling

I remember him, Simon, telling me that they'd already called my uncle. He'd come and take me in. I'd live with him now. And at the time, the last thing I wanted was to _replace_ my parents. But I can also remeber numbly nodding my head along. I was what they called, 'in shock'. And I understood that, I understood that I was currently in shock. And that soon enough it would the numbness would fade, and I'd feel for the first time, the true pain. Hiding blankly behind the wall of numbness.

I remeber a flurry of faces, voices. And for the first few days, I kept completely to myself. They'd talk, but all that I'd hear was a faint whisper. The pain blocki anything else out. I'd look at their faces, but they all seemed blurry, as well seeming to fold into one another. I remeber crying in my bed, before the door opened.

It was the little boy of the family. Derek. He'd been born deaf, he'd been a baby at the time. I remeber, him just a little baby, two. He'd crawled into my room, and I remeber just holding him. And it made me feel better. It was the feeling of security, I think. Of family. After that I warmed up to the rest of them.

My uncle Rick, and aunt Cara. Who treated and Loved me just as much as their own. I'd join the family arguments, and get the same amount of chores as the rest of them. ("But I'm not even your kid." "Sure you aren't" "I'm not!")

Electra, the eldest, who'd been eight at the time. I remeber her telling me all sorts of things, and me believing her, no matter how make believe they all sounded. I looked up to her, thinking one day I too would be in second grade just like her. That was a big kid years, she'd tell me facts and I'd correct her. Down to the very point where she'd ask me for help on schoolwork and assignments. I figured out very early on in life that I'd been born smart. And of course now, I've been scarring off potential boyfriends.

Christian had been my age. Tying us together for second oldest in the family. Excluding his parents, my uncle and aunt. We looked alike, sometimes telling passerbys that we were twins. They'd always just shake their head and laugh, us joining in soon after. After the war he was never quite the same. His best friend, Alex, had been killed in the rebellion. He had been Christian's everything. Sometimes he still turn, to tell Alex something, before remebering that he was gone. We had drifted away after all this, being around him was just too painful. I tried, we all tried, but he just seemed to get worse.

Then there'd been Sonha. She was a year younger than me, the little sibling I'd never imagined having. But she felt just like that. And when she came of age, potential boyfriends of hers were scared off as well. She had been annoying at times, but in the end she'd always be my little sis.

And then there was Derek. The little two year old who'd comforted me when I felt like my whole world had been gone. He was extraordinary. He deserved so much more than the run down, trash we call our District. He should be somewhere like 1. Not the Capitol favourite turned dump. He was a saint among a District filled with sinners, cowards and thieves.

Our proud District, reduced to _this_ after the rebellion. I sighed. "Uncle Rick!"Rick's head soon poked its way from behind the couch. Smiling maniacally. "How was that, son! That was one way to handle things. I'm writing that one down." He mimed pulling out a notebook and writing on it words and shapes. I chuckled at my uncle's antics.

I put a finger to my chin, attempting to look I deep thought. "We call it; The interrupt-him-everytime-he-tries-to-speak-or-mention-himself-or-Electra/Sonha tactic." I said spreading my hands wide, to demonstrate. Using elaborate hand-gestures to accompany my words. He chuckled. "The name needs a little work." He says using a so-so gesture with his hand, by turning it in on itself several times. I shrugged, "Don't question my genius."

"Sonha! Electra! Velkan's gotta head out to work soon. You two better start getting ready for your own jobs!" Soon enough I hear a sound similar to a bang, resonate through the house. Before Sonha comes practically tumbling down the stairs. "Here, dad!" She gives him a mock salute. Before tromping her way down the stairs. Her hole filled sweater clinging closely to her, it looks to be a size too small as well as backwards. I decide not to comment.

Sonha's red hair is flying behind her as she trips over a cracked floorboard. She inherited the colour from her mother, the sole child in the family to own it. Electra's being more of a muted brown with red highlights. And Christian's and Derek's, as well as mine being a dark brown.

I try not to snicker at my cousin's clumsiness. She shoots me a glare as she steadies herself from her almost tumble.

When Electra comes down, she is much more composed, with that big sister vibe following her around like a lost puppy. Her hair is in a loose bun, with strands framing her face. She carefully steps over the chipped floorboard, with Sonha muttering something close to 'Show off'. I roll my eyes at her and cough out the word, 'loser.'

She glares at me and I stick out my tongue at her. She mouthed the words, 'real mature'. I simply glare. "Well I'm gonna go say good bye to Derek, then I'm off." I announce. Running my had through my hair once, a nervous tick (as well as fidgeting with my hands) I had developed over the years. They all nod, a chorus of "Ok"s and "Sure"s are passed around.

I was gifted in mechanics, whether it be passed down from my parents or my pure genuine curiosity that developed the skill I wasn't sure. But it was now certainly a part of my life. I worked in the factory part time, which sometimes enerved me. But I was fairly certain that there weren't going to be many rebel attacks now.

I open Derek's door... To find him sleeping. I smile. "Have a nice sleep, buddy." I gently place a kiss to his forehead. Tucking his exposed upper body under the sheets. He shifts in his sleep, and mutters something incoherent. I smile to no one other than myself. Slowly I let myself slip out of the room, closing the door, and the last thing I see is him clutching his blankets like his life depended on it. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

I say my goodbyes, to my cousins and uncle. Before exiting the house. The way to the factory is short. I walk with a formed confidence. Thinks of everything that I could do today. All thoughts out the window, replaced by diagrams and blueprints of my brain.

When I finally reach the factory, I smile. But within the smile are trapped memories and lost potential. Longing for something different, yet wishing for it al to remain the same. Wanting a different life, but being content with my own.

And so I smile once more.

* * *

 **I loved writing Velkan! The first time I tried, well I failed. This time went a lot more smoothly. :)**


	24. Artemis Neverending, D2, Female, Age 18

_Artemis Neverending, District 2, Female, Age 18,_

I was born the eldest of twins. Apollo and I, we were best friends. But we'd seemed like polar opposites. He was charismatic and funny, social and charming. He'd have been the sun, he was to me. I, on the other hand, was introverted, hostile, determined and cunning. I was older, but I looked up to him, I did, I really did. That sure changed throughout time. I remember him teasing me once he grew taller than I, I'd shove him and he'd make some comment that would throw us into fits of laughter. The thoughts gets make me scowl.

Our parents had been peacekeepers, they died one day in a rebel attack. Throwing us both, into a community home, foster care. Our parents had told us to be peacekeepers when we grew up, just like them. Something important to the Capitol. Apollo jumped at the chance, he'd been so excited, he practically dragged me into it. I was good, better than good even, I was phenomenal. And he would whine about it.

We realized soon that we both specialized in different things. But when it came to one-on-one, Artemis was far superior. Once put into the foster system, they continued. Apollo continuing his as a mere use to stay in shape, Artemis, it was her one way ticket to revenge. She wished there were more rebels in their District. Because she wanted to kill, to hurt them, for what they did to her family.

She hated the foster care, the orphanage. She was hit, she was hurt and sweet Apollo was their favourite. She soon developed jealousy towards her twin, how could she not? While she was ugly as a mule, he was as charming and handsome as anything. He'd been offered a job at being a model, which he'd accepted, for the money, always for the money. While she was hit in the Courner, he was everyone's golden boy.

It wasn't a surprise when he was adopted at age fourteen. To be honest, she'd expected it to come sooner. It was a rich, welcoming home, with a loving family. They even had a little girl already. My replament, was what I mostly thought of the little girl.

I expected Apollo to visit, to come around to see me, walk with me to class. But after he was adopted, he never even made eye-contact with me again. He was always surrounded, with friends. Fake or real, they all seemed to blur together. And sooner or later, Artemis realized she'd started to despise her brother. But he was her blood, her brother, the one who's made her laugh and smile, now wouldn't even look at her. She'd though adoption would only mean they wouldn't get to see each other as often, but instead it changed everything

This change made me change. He'd been my life, my whole _freakin_ ' life. And they he just left me, and it hurt. He was supposed to stay forever, be there with me forever. And when he left I thought that I'd still have that forever. But I didn't, because he erased that forever, he broke that forever, he laughed at that forever and then walked away. And it changed me. It changed me.

He wasn't my sweet brother anymore, he was some rich snob who only cared about image and money. But then, he was still Apollo, he was funny and charming and no matter how much she wanted to hate him, to loathe him, she couldn't. He was her blood and she still loved him.

She continued her training throughout life, and one day she snapped. I'd felt it. I'd been training, when all of a sudden his face way what I envisioned as I let my punch fly. It startled me, it stopped my punch in its tracks. Did I want to hurt Apollo?

Then it hit me completely, of course I did. He'd done nothing for me, he'd hurt me, he'd practically broke me. I snarled at the memory. My small little brother was gone, in his place an arrogant model, thinking he'd been God's gift to his adoptive parents. I visited him one day, it was late at night and I snuck out.

I was walking, when there I saw him, with his friends, laughing idiotically, smiling and her, his sister, sitting next to him. Curling into him as she laughed, the sight made me sick to the stomach. Because I'd been replaced. Because to me, he'd never been replaced, even after all that he'd done to me. He should be the with me, begging for my forgiveness, but instead he's laughing with Artemis 2.0, my fist clenched. I'd ran, I'd been reckless, too consumed with anger to let my thoughts process.

I'd caught, it was a beating, severe. It'd been my first bad one in years, the scars still seemed fresh if I ran my fingers over them. They were on my left leg. And they hurt, in memory, and they had hurt, physically. And it'd been his fault. And I realized that I hated my brother. I hated him. I hated him. I _hated_ him. The next day at school, I saw him, his idiot sister attached to him. She didn't do anything wrong, technically, but I didn't care. Why would I? She hadn't done anything for me, ever.

Every week he'd seem to have more friends, he was prowling through girlfriends by the days. But that didn't stop them, they'd continue to throw themselves at him. Desperate enough for anything, and he'd let them. I grimaced, sick bastard. I wanted someon to see the monster that lurked inside him, I longed to see the day he was finally turned down. I smiled, that was a nice thought. Him being the one rejected for once, seemed he didn't doing it to others.

If she told someone that Apollo and her were related they'd laugh in her face, call her a liar, then leave. Artemis was a lot near, too scared to Trust anyone, Apollo did this to me, I'd think, blame him. But nobody would, because he was _Apollo_ and she was _Artemis._ And she hated the fact.

Apollo, sweet little Apollo. At his new house he was the oldest sibling. Must have been nice, a change. She'd gone through a change too, his fault. She wondered if was ever beat a day in his life, even hit or smacked. She doubted it. His parents wouldn't dare break their little money-maker. And his sweet sister, she had no idea what kind of hypocritical, little bastard her brother was. He was her brother, hers, and she had the right to do whatever she wanted to him. That included pain.

She wanted him to feel the pain he had once inflicted upon her, the pain she would feel whenever his name was mentioned around the orphanage or school, even town. He'd dropped his peacekeeping dream, according to the town gossip, to pursue modelling. Her brother would never have done that, she knew he wouldn't have, she knew. Turns out, she didn't know him anymore, when his face appeared in the Capitol's magazines and advertisements around the District.

And then she knew that he'd changed.

Her Apollo, would never have chosen money over dream. She knew him, he'd never shown the same interest in modeling than he had in peacekeeping. He'd wanted to honor our parents, he'd wanted to make them proud. They'd be the opposite of proud. At least, she was. He'd turned his back n family the second fame and fortune reared its ugly little head. And he'd pushed her down and shoved her out of his way to achieve it.

But when she got up, some pieces of herself were replaced, instead of looking at him lovingly, her expression had turned to one of pure hatred. When she got another beating for being distracted by his stupid face, she'd like to have blamed him too.

He was her nemesis. He was her undoing. He was her brother still, though. She'd fantasized herself hugging or hurting him, sometimes both. But then she'd wake up and he'd still be at his new house, with his new sister and new persona. And then no matter the dream, she'd want to hurt him all over again. She'd imagine him begging her for mercy, smiling maniacally back, him crying, screaming. Then she'd wake, feeling guilty but vengeful all the same. Which eventually led to the question within herself, could she kill her own blood. Her own brother. Her own twin. Apollo.

Was he even her brother anymore? Blood does not define us, Apollo was living proof of that. He'd come from a foster home, she's sure he would write about it later on.

 _I came from The slums, the worst of the worst. And I rose to fame, my looks brought me here. I knew that if I kept going, eventually my saving grace would come, it would save me. Then, a family of three walked in, and I knew that I'd found it. They adopted me, and I was forever gracious. They took me in, loved me and cared for me. They already had a daughter, her name was Rhea. We hit it off immediately, we loved each other. She was the sister I'd always imagined. I liked my new life, soon I was modeling again, earning money from it. I got to then quit my pastime job, working to become a peacekeeper, to pursue modeling completely. Even if you come from the humblest of beginning, you'll find your place. Either like me, you'll rise to greatness or continue living the life you never deserved. Life at the orphanage was horrible for me. And I am ever so grateful that my angel came. Hopefully yours will too. Love, Apollo Enema._

Enema, that was his new name. Enema, how did I loathe that name. Artemis threw the magazine across the room, too angry to care. This article, it'd been like she never existed. His smiling face, the picture of him accompanying it, seemed to be mocking her. She scowled back. She stretched, trying to keep all her swirling emotions in tow. She was currently sitting cross legged on her bed, a lumpy old metal thing with a mattress flung lazily into it.

I wanted to burn the magazine. It felt like torture reading through it. But she had too, no matter how much she wanted to put it down that part of her at the back of her head urged her on. _The slums, the worst of the worst_. She gritted her teeth, how she hated him right now. It was during times like these where she really saw why she loathed him so, others times she'd wonder why she hated him so much. But the next day she'd always know. She always did.

 _She was the sister I'd always imagined._ That one hurt, he had a sister. Her. Although judging by the article he'd seem to have forgotten. That made her stomach turn and her fist clench. She wanted to scream, but that would only earn her another beating. So instead she closed her eyes and tried to sleep it off. She was his sitter, how could he have thrown her away so easily, so quickly, not even seeming to flinch. Rhea, the girl's name was like a poison.

 _Life at the orphanage was horrible for me._ Sure it was Apollo, sure it was. He'd been their favourite, their golden-boy. She'd been beaten and abused. He'd been able to get a job and work for himself, he'd had the privilege of pursuing his dream, he'd been adopted because of how happy he was at the orphanage. He'd never been beaten, yelled at, slapped, hit, kicked, hurt. No one had ever broken his heart. They made him sound like a hero, something inspirational, someone to look up to. He was anything but those things, he was a sick, cold monster. Who'd killed her without a second glance.

She raised herself off the bed, and slowly stalked over to the magazine. His face was smiling at her, almost as in a trance she felt her mouth open and fist move forward. She screamed loudly before punching the wall. A horrible scream, that she'd used to try and show her e options, to tell him her thoughts, shout her frustration. The wall had a hole in it and she was confused for a second before she just realized what she'd done. The reaction was immediate, the pain was intoxicating. She was feeling faint, her vision blurry, she heard voices and screams. And then, the last thing she saw was Apollo's face, smiling at her as she crumpled from the pain. She felt her vision go dark and her foster mom scream at her face, she felt a slap and some more pain, before her whole vision went black.

 _Your fault._

She thought gingerly, Apollo's golden Features burning bright in her mind.

* * *

 **How fun do you think it'd be to write Apollo's pov, just think about it. His take on the whole betraying/abandoning thing. How awesome would that be, I'm tempted to write it actually...**


	25. Haizea Lobo, D10, Female, Age 18

_Haizea Lobo, District 10, Female, Age 18_

My story is one I often tell in a very bitter voice. A very passionate speech. I often grit my teeth throughout it and don't pay proper attention to what I'm saying as long as the proper words come out. As long as the fact that I absolute _loathe_ the Capitol is clear, I'm happy.

My older brother, Mikel, and I had gone for a ride. We'd been going to one of the many cattle farms in our District. It was supposed to be fun, our monthly chore. We were going to pick up some meat for our family butcher shop. Run by our parents, the staff consisting of us, their children. Mikel and I had joked around, made friendly conversation with the cattle farm owner, a man named Derek Chandler and then sung old folk songs on our way back. We were having the time of our lives. And I loved it.

When we reached the slight hill that our house rested upon, I dropped the meat. And I remember hearing Mikel shriek. It was a loud piercing song, and it scared me. I remember wanting to turn and look at Mikel, see how he was, but _couldn't._ My eyes had stayed fixated on the burning building in front of me.

The flames consumed my house, the sound of our father, Arturo, screaming is a memory forever embedded in my mind. Our mother, Maya, and sister, Katalin, yelling for help. I think the youngest, Roberto had shouted something too, he was only three, so it may have been my imagination. Alaia, who was only nine had died too. Katalin being nine. Our grandma had died in the fire too, she'd been sixty-five. I'd stood frozen on the hill, staring as them, the peacekeepers, torched my house.

I remember hating them.

Ironic, it is, that in the moment I saw my house burn to the ground, a certain fire rose up in me, the fire, the passion for revenge. Cold, bitter revenge. I'd wanted to hurt someone. Mikel'd been horrified, I'd developed a taste for revenge. I wanted to run toward them and break them, I wanted to do anything to avenge my fallen family. My fist had clenched the meat resting at my feet completely forgotten. I felt rage boil inside me. They'd been _children._

Pthe next thing I felt was how absolutely lucky I was. Because of a chore Mikel and I'd been sent to do, we'd survived. We'd _survived._ I was eternally grateful. I wouldn't waste this chance, this second life, I wouldn't waste it. I would use it to accomplish my revenge. As I watched the flames lick my house hungrily, the white-clad peacekeepers torch my house, I knew that I'd been given this chance to fight back.

The peacekeepers soon left, taking their flame throwers and walking away as if they hadn't just murdered children. These men were monsters, that, I think, is when I truly understood the war. It affected all of us, Dostroct 10 was a safer District, but even we were not above the war. And the peacekeepers were not above murdering children. They moved almost robotically, I thought. Their arms moving at the same time, their faces, forever concealed by the black of their masks, hiding everything from us.

I remember Mikel's sharp intake of breath before he'd turned to face me. I'd forced myself not to look at him.

Then, as if in a trance I remember walking forward, slowly stepping over the fallen meat resting upon the ground. I remember Mikel telling me to stop, I also remember ignoring his pleas. I kept walking. The stones etched into the pathway that I'd always loved tracing the outline of when I was young, seemed cold as my feet moved slowly across them. I remember feeling hot, the sweat slowly starting to form across my forehead, as I neared the house.

I remember falling to my knees, and reaching out towards the house. Completely unaware of the numbing pain slowly building up in my knees. My hand feeling hotter the closer it got to the building. The flame surrounding my hand, as if considering whether or not to eat it, then they'd dived in. Orange-red flames consumed my hand, I felt no pain, I'd just wanted my family back. I pushed my hand in farther, telling myself that if I went all the way in, I'd be able to get my family. I closed my eyes and imagined I was reaching out to my family. I'd have smiled. Then I felt a tug at my shoulders, and Mikel had tugged me away from the building.

"What the Hell were you thinking!?" He'd scream. I'd see tears in his eyes, but my body wouldn't reach, I'd stay numb. His voice barely reaching my brain, his words barely touching anything at all. The pain in my hand barely registering in my mind. I'd look up at him and whisper, "I want the Capitol to feel my pain." I'd say it with such fierceness that Mikel would step backwards.

"What." He'd say, his face a mask of hurt and confusion, I saw fear too, but we never bring that up. I'd repeat myself. "I want the Capitol to feel my pain. I want them to hurt, to watch as their own people burn to the ground. As their baby brother is murdered in front of them. I want them to hear the tortured sounds of their father screaming for help. I want-"

Mikel would cut me off. "Haizea, stop." He'd hug me, pull me into his shirt and I'd cry. He'd cry too. The tears weren't fast, they were slow, the first one fell, then another. Slowly, more would fall. Until my whole face was sticky, his shirt was sticky too. I would feel the wetness of his tears falling into my hair. We stayed like that for a long time.

Soon enough, I'd come to find out that my parents had been killed because it was rumoured that they'd been harbouring rebels. I grit my teeth and clench my fists. Peacekeepers had killed my family because of a rumour, one that wasn't even truthful at that. My hatred for them only grew after that day. Every single fiver in my body hated them, hated them with a burning passion so hard that sometimes I'd swear Mikel was afraid of it.

Before we knew it, we were living on the street.

Our house had been burned down, we were orphans. Mikel was fifteen at the time, he'd try getting a job, but they'd say he wasn't qualified enough. I'd want to hit them. We lived on the streets for two weeks, both slowly dying from famine, cold and my burn had started to get infected. The pain had already registered and so far it's been killing me. Then, as if out of nowhere we were scooped up by rebels, they took us to their camps and then they trained us.

They trained us to be everything I'd always wanted to be. They'd trained us to finally punish the Capitol. We became assassins. We were chosen, because somehow the Rebels found out about our situation. I'd never felt more blessed. Finally, I would be able to act against the Capitol, they'd finally feel my pain. When millions of their soldiers died, they'd know how I'd felt when they heartlessly killed my family. They'd know and they'd feel my pain.

For two years we trained brutally, finally we were ready, they sent us out to fight. We'd kill. I'd tel myself that it was Ok, these were Capitol men, but somehow I'd still end up hating myself the more the war raged on.

To this very day, I can still remember my first kill. We'd trained for th forever. I thought I knew what it'd be like to kill a man. We'd snuck into a Capitol meeting, many important Capitol officials had gathered there. We'd snuck in under fake names, I'd danced with few, gained information along the way, I found my target. I'd worn a huge gown, it was white and silver, flowing out from my waist. A knife strapped on the inside of my bott and attached to my bra. Mikel was in charge of the planning, I always did the killing. Always. I'd Led him, the target, off, spromising him things I kne I'd never fulfil. Then I'd pulled out the knife I'd had strapped onto the inside of my boots and turned as quick as light to face him. I was about to stab when I saw his eyes.

Fear, shock, guilt, love, loss. I saw a story flash before my eyes, and I'd thought for the first time ever. This man was human, I would be killing another human being. This man, have had a family, friends, who was I to take that away from him. I'd tel myself he was a Capitol man, none of it mattered. But still I hesitated. On that moment of weakness, the moment where I hesitated, he'd tried to shove me out of the way. I'd stood my ground and stabbed the knife into his heart.

That night I'd dreamed of the man, his eyes telling me his silent story, I woke up in the middle of the night crying. Mikel not there to comfort me.

Mikel was brawn, brute strength, but he was a sweetheart once you warmed up to him. I was stealth and cold as the night. I was grace and poise, I was the perfect assassin. And most times I hated myself for it. Others times the thrill of murder was a huge rush of adrenaline.

I wasn't just an activist, I was a murderer. I'd try and comfort myself, telling myself that I'd done what I'd needed to do to survive. We all did what we needed to do to survive, mine was just slightly less humane. There were times when I'd kill and want to kill more, other times I'd have to look away as my knives pierced the heart. Blood and screams filling the air. My conscious would say I was no better than the men who murdered my family, I'd tell it to shut up. But a part of me would always agree. This was the life of an assassin.

Nightmares plagued my sleep. Of my parents and siblings, of Mikel dying, of every single kill I'd ever made. They'd haunt me. It was at times Like these, where I could consider myself the monster. Not them, me. Over the course of my life what I'd needed to do to survive was become a monster.

When the war ended, Mikel and I reopened the old family butcher. Mikel got back together with his old girlfriend, Dimitra. I revisited the old cattle farm, the very same one I'd been sent to do my chore. The very chore that saved my life. I met his son, Buck, such a sweet boy. Poor thing spdoesn't deserve the cruelty this world is. It is in moments like these, where I can almost feel normal. But then I go to sleep once more, and my nightmares return, remnant me that I am anything but.

The door rings and I look up, Buck's just walked in. He'holding a slab of meat. I smile, the little boy looks like he can barely hold it. I walk out from behind the counter and saunter over. "Thanks." He says, I smile. "No worries, little guy." I ruffle his hair before grabbing the meat for him, winking asI bring it to Mikel. Where he'll cut it up and then prepare it for others to consume.

I walk back out to see unknown still standing ther, alittle awakwardly. "Hi." He says, I smile, amused. "Hello." "Money? Please." He says it in such a timid voice, almost as if it's a question that I burst out laughing. "Sure, Buck, sure." I hand him the money. "This is too much." He states, looking a little confused. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to smile. "Keep the change." He smiles up at me gratefully. "Thanks Haizea, you're the best."

He does something I definitely don't expect, he leans over the counter and haves me a hug. I stand there shocked for a moment before I smile, and hit him back. He remind me of the little brother I lost, and the boy he could have grown up to be. I smile because despite everything, this is a comforting thought.

And Ihave never been more grateful for anything ever.

* * *

 **Haizea. This chapter. Lot longer than I first anticipated, was written way faster than I antipathed and took an unexpected turn halfway through. She got pretty dark on some of those passages, dang.**


	26. Reactions, I

**A/N- Ok, so I was suppose to be writing the reapings, yes, I know, but then this idea came to me. The kids didn't know anything about the games, how would they react to them? I also wanted the first games to be different from the ones we see in the books, kinda like, over the years the games have changed, etc... So I started writing the reapngs and somehow it developed into this. They'll only be three chapters of this then I promise to get to the reapings. Swear on the River Styx. The reapings'll be much shorter than this too, btw.**

* * *

 **District 1**

 _Midas Ambertide (17) and Maya Spencer (17)_

Midas stood there. Fazed, still. He was in a crowd of bystanders, the announcement had just been made. The Hunger games were happening. A fight to the death would be happening. He'd prayed to whatever God there was that he wouldn't be picked. Hadn't his life given him enough misfortunes as there was. the Hunger games. He gritted his teeth, and people wondered why he hated the Capitol so much.

They'd be sending children, children to fight. For what purpose? To show that they have power. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair in the slightest. he wondered if that meant he'd be picked, they said it'd be random. But the malicious smiles Maya seemed to be sending him every two seconds spoke differently. Knowing her, she'd twist these games around to her favor. He wondered if she'd pick him to go to these games just because of spite. She wasn't that evil, was she?

Maybe so. The rules simple. Twenty-four children, they'd send twenty-four of us. We'd fight to the death, the last-one standing would go on a Victory tour, they'd rub it in everyone's faces how they'd survived. The parents of the other twenty-three children forced to watch. Everyone would be forced to watch. No school, no nothing. Just the Games. there'd be a chariot race, at least that's what they called it. Four tributes would be squished into a chariot, the Capitol showing off their prisoners. Showing the world just how far they'd go. Dressing us up in fancy costumes, trying to make it sound fun and cool. Yeah right, us rebels, we knew the Capitol. They'd be doing this only to show us off, show off their prisoners, flaunt their power, abuse it. Then, the interviews would commence, it was to get to know the tributes. really, Midas assumed it was only to get to know our status, know which people to kill off first. Who to put targets on. telling the other tributes, that's what they would call them, who they should kill first.

From ages twelve to eighteen. It hardly seemed fair. There'd be a reaping, that's what they called the randomized picking. Reapings. You could volunteer if you liked. Why anyone would want to that was beyond him. He'd never hated the Capitol so much. There would also be sponsor gifts, apparently these gifts, they depended on your family. Your family would be the ones paying for it, for example, if you were dirt poor, just don't count on many gifts. capitol citizens could donate to your families, though there was no guarantee that they'd spend it in your favor. Somehow, he felt as if that rule was especially directed towards him. He was just another face in the crowd at the moment. He wondered how his parents would react if he were chosen. Probably wouldn't even give a fuck. He gritted his teeth at that. His fist clenching slightly. The announcements were over, but the crowd had yet to disperse.

It was the mayor who'd given the speech, Maya's father standing beside him. Maya's hazel orbs searching the crowd from the stage above, for me. When she'd spotted me, her malicious grin had sent shivers down my spine. When the Mayor'd said random, she'd winked at me. I'd wanted to strangle her. Wrap my arms around her pristine little neck and choke the life out of her. the thought passed by within a second, immediately I felt regret churning in my rib cage. Great, now I'm thinking like her too. That's just great.

I stood rooted to the ground as the other children and parents left. Maya started making her way off of the stage. I kept my eyes down, I could see the tips of her shoes, but acted as if nothing was going on. As if the single human-being who'd ruined my life wasn't just standing there. Mocking me.

"Hey, Midas. Long time no see." I kept my gaze to the ground, trying not to jump forward and strangle her. Trying not to hurt her, scream at her, kick her, punch her. Instead I stayed immobile, feet planted eyes down. I felt fingers touch my chin, her pristine delicate little fingers. They lifted my gaze to look at her. her hazel eyes were glowing, her smile one of my nightmares. Her hair was blowing slightly, she was gorgeous. Too bad the same didn't apply to her personality. Maya was a monster disguised as a princess.

She was shorter than me by a couple of inches so I still had to keep my gaze down slightly to look her in the eye. "Don't play that game, Midas. Come on, say something." I shook slightly, suppressing everything. She wanted me to react, she wanted me to hurt her, she wanted me to get mad. I wasn't going to give her that satisfaction, because she knew that both the mayor and her father were standing behind her. "I'm sorry, Maya, but I must get going. Things to do. Was _nice_ seeing you again" The bitter tone of voice is clear, I see a slight disappointment in her eyes. Shining hazel orbs, framed by big brown lashes. "Pity, goodbye Midas." I turn away, give her a mocking smile and wave over my shoulder, then keep going. She won't get anything out of me, not one single thing.

I don't care if I go into the Hunger games, I realize, as long as Maya's there besides me. So I can rip out her throat and that _thing_ finally, finally gets what she deserves. In moments likes these, moment where I can think of cold-blooded murder and smile, I know what's she really has changed my life. That she's broken me and corrupted me beyond repair. I know, I know.

* * *

 **District 2**

 _Asher Valentine (17) and Artemis Neverending (18)_

Asher was scared, he was more than scared. He was terrified. These games, they weren't humane. He couldn't be picked, he just couldn't. He had so much ahead of him, he-he was gonna be a peacekeeper. He would finally be able to quit his job at the stone quarry. He-he, he couldn't get chosen. He was home now. Laying in bed, thinking of what would happen if he was. Chosen that is. Titus was there too. He was sitting on the edge of Asher's bed, silently thinking as well.

Titus should be more worried than him. Not only did Titus have two sisters, both of age, he also wasn't prepared. At all. He was scrawny and weak. Asher doubted a hilarious personality would be useful. He was pretty fast though, al that running away was good for something after all. Then it would come down to, would he volunteer for Titus?

He continuously told himself he would. Titus was his best friend, he'd do anything for him. But, if it meant his life or Titus, would he make the sacrifice. He definitely like to think so. And if not, did that make him both a bad friend and bad person? Surely not, it would have been either of them, better off not himself. But then he'd tell that part of himself that they were wrong, Asher would do anything for Titus. He would. He must.

He knew that if he was picked he'd have a good chance at winning. Better han Titus at least. He was strong and would most likely be a Capitol favourite. Being a loyalist after all. But wouldn't that make him a target? He hoped not. But he would soon realize that this hope was pretty much just wistful thinking. Of course he'd be a target!

The big strong, burly boy from District two. Training to be a peacekeeper, works in a stone quarry, rich enough, Capitol favourite. He was just worded that wasn't he? So obviously they'd kill him, right?

Maybe they'd be too scared? Yeah right, once they got a load of his personality from those stupid interviews they'd know he didn't have it In him to kill anybody. Much less children years younger than himself. He couldn't. Every time he killed one of them, he'd the of Titus' siblings. There adorable faces, how they practically worshipped Titus and loved him above all else. He couldn't stand killing them, or anyone else killing them either.

He would imagine the parents, the friends the families of these children he would kill and he'd think to himself. Could I really kill any of these kids? He couldn't, he honestly couldn't. And his District partner. He'd most likely know them wouldn't he, he knew everyone, everyone knew everyone. They'd all gone to school together, laughed together played together. For all he knew it it'd be him and one of Titus' sisters going into those games.

The luck of the draw.

Would his parents sponsor him? He liked to hope so. He was the one who'd earned them everything they owned. He was the one who single handedly saved their entire family from poverty. They owed it to him, right? Sponsoring him? He doubted Titus' parents would sponsor him, their son that is. Too poor, between feeding the children, to Titus not having an actual job. They didn't have enough. Add that to the list of reason if Titus was reaped he'd volunteer for him.

"Hey, Titus." His best friend looked up at him, not straying from his position on his back. His brown hair still messy in front of his eyes. Which were rime do red. He'd been crying, Asher realized with a jolt. This shocked him, Titus never cried. Ever.

"Wassup?" He said, the same cheerful voice he always bore. That's when Asher realized he didn't know his friend as well as he'd thought. For how long had Titus cried silently, this kind of covering up wasn't natural. Wasn't some thing you did in the spur of the moment and nailed. No this was practiced and rehersed.

How hadn't he noticed, how hadn't he noticed that Titus wasn't as happy as he put out there. How? He was supposed to be Titus' best friend, yet he didn't even realize anything wrong. Asher didn't pry ough, if Titus wanted to tell him he would. Just like Titus never pried into his business.

"Do you think you could win?" He didn't need to elaborate, Titus would know what he was talking about. He had to. He watched as his best friend nervously ran a hand through his hair before he wrung them together, his hands. "No. Come on, Ash, I think we both know that if either of us were chosen, it'd be you winning that thing." Asher though that he'd never seen his best friend look so serious. Never, not for all the years he'd the boy. Asher looked down. Feeling slightly guilty for the strangest of reasons. So what if He were strong, not his fault.

He'd trained and done everything so that he could keep his family alive. He grew strong and tough in the process. It was survival of the fitness, Asher knew that. The guilt eating him away was irrational, he knew that.

"Asher, this is serious. Look at me." Asher. Titus had said Asher. Not Ash, not Sher, not A-star. Asher. He looked up. "Asher, listen, this is life Ok, things like this happen. The chances of either of us getting chose is so unlikely I doubt it'll happen. Listen, don't worry about it. Eveything'll be fine." He, Asher, nodded and grinned at his best friend.

There were still so many sides, so many secrets within him he doubted He'd live one enough to find them all out.

* * *

 **District 3**

 _Velkan Findlay (17) and Zelda Knightly (16)_

Velkan looked up. He didn't know what to think anymore. During the war, he'd always been neutral. Never thinking one side was better than the other. But now, with this new twist the Capitol's put into play, he suddenly felt the urge to rebel. Which was stupid of course, the war was over, rebelling would be pointless and would most likely get him killed. But he couldn't help but wonder if not rebelling had been an opportunity wasted.

Stop. He commanded himself. It was this time of thinking that started the war, got everyone killed. And he could assure himself, that more deaths would be both a waste and futile, for the cause he was dreaming of at the moment. The Hunger Games was inhumane, most had already lost so much. Why sacrifice more? Why should they have to give up more? The war was won, they, the Capitol, had won the war, so why in the world were they punishing them?

They were punishing everyone too. Not just the rebels, the loyalists and neutrals too. Velkan gritted his teeth at the thought. Why? He hadn't done anyone wrong. His family hadn't done anything wrong. The whole reason they remained neutral was because they didn't want to get hurt, nor punished. So why were they being punished abyways. Choosing to become neutral was the logical choice, obviously. No matter the outcome they wouldn't get hurt, be tortured, nothing.

If the rebels won, they'd punish the Capitol. The Capitol won, they'd punish the rebels. The neutrals would remain safe, protected and free. It was basic logic and couldn't fathom how he'd miscalculated. It was the perfect plan. He couldn't even count the number of times he'd run it through his head, testing it, making sure it was faultless, foolproof.

Why punish their own either? He understood it was a desperate mean to show their power, how much of it they had. To spread fear into those who dared challenge or oppose them. But the loyalists knew that, why else would they have sided with the very monsters now sending them off to their deaths. Velkan hoped he were dreaming, he'd wake up and none of this would be real. It was wistful thinking he knew.

He hugged his knees as gently sat on his bed. He felt weightless and insignificant. Long gone was the cheerful boy who'd always been charismatic and smart. He'd always thought being neutral meant the war wouldn't affect him. Turns out it had, he cringed awkwardly. Looking back, his plan had many faults. Many flaws, loopholes. He felt childish by just looking at it.

He wondered how his family had taken it. His uncle didn't seem too shocked, which surprised Velkan. He would have thought the older man would be freaking out just as the rest of them. He wondered if it felt different, to be an adult and hear the announcement. Would it affect them the same way it affected us, the kids? He meant, they weren't the ones being shipped off to die. Were they, no they weren't. He knew it wasn't their fault, but Velkan still couldn't help but feel bitter and alone with his thoughts.

He'd always been called a child of his thoughts, which now seemed ironic and left a bitter taste on his tongue. It would be his thoughts which eventually dragged him to madness wouldn't it. Was this was me felt before they went mad? They felt alone, inclined to talk to themselves and lived off of ther own thoughts. But then again, me who went ad were never quite aware of it, so he couldn't doing so right now. His thoughts though, felt to him muddled, which was a first for the boy.

The ages for these games were horrible, they were disgusting. Twelve, the minimum was twelve. It made him want to barf. They were sending children out to die, children. Adults, he may understand, they'd loved their life, to an would still make him want to hurl, but it was still better than this. Velkan, at the age of twelve, had barely even understood what puberty was. How could this children be expected to go fight to the death, kids twice their size and so much stronger. It made him want to strangle the Capitol. They were sending these kids to die. And for wha purpose? To show they had power, stupid meaningless positions that to him meant nothing.

He couldn't imagine sitting at home, being forced to watch these children be murderred right in front him.

There were elements of the games, that Velkan found fascinating. The interview, for example were genius. They gave the Caoitol any sort of information they desired, they wanted to know you're status, rebel, loyalist, neutral, they'd have it. You friends or family, they'd know it. He doubted he'd be able to lie and get away with it. Maybe he could, he wasn't sure. He'd never been the best at lying but over the years he realized he'd come close to perfecting it.

These games, were a masterpiece. With so many interacted folds and pieces, it made Velkan's plans look silly and childish in comparison. Each set to the games had its own purpose, they were different sure, but at the end of the day, they all equated to one thing. The Capitol gaining strength, the Capitol showing their individual power. The Capiol, in all of this mess, was the only one gaining anything.

It didn't matter who won, Velkan would soon come to realize. They'd just be another pawn in the Capitol's game of chess. They wouldn't be gaining anything, oh no, but the Caoitol would. He, Velkan, understood how inhumane these games were, yes he definitely understood all of that, but he also understood just how genius they were too. How absolutely genius they were to him, at least. Only some sick bastard could come up with something this twisted.

Velkan chuckled darkly to himself, yep, some sick, sick bastard.

* * *

 **District 4**

 _Marrisa Zale (16) and Oliver Seadown (14)_

Marrisa fingered her trident. Sat down plop next to her was Troy. Sweet, loving charismatic Troy. They were on the ground, her legs were curled to her chest, his were outstretched in front of the duo. "Troy, do you think we could win? Just the two of us?" She didn't need to specify, he got the memo. She was talking about the games, then again, who wasn't. She felt Troy move beside her, awakwardly shuffling around like he did whe nervous. She felt him tense up before relaxing once more."I think we could. Just the two of us."

She kept playing with her trident, not looking at him, afraid of what she'd find if she did. They could win, they could, couldn't they. All her life, Marrisa had trained. And for what? A war she barely even faught in? It didn't make sense. All her life, all Marrsa had wanted to do was prove herself, show that she was the best, always had been always will be. Her hand twitched to pick up a sword and fight. She turned to Troy. "Wanna spar?"

His brown hair was falling into his sea-green eyes, concealing any emotion he could have been feeling at the moment. He was smiling though, so she wondered if his eyes would tell a different story. "Sure." Marrisa sprang to her feet, grinning cockily at the boy beside her. Troy took longer, using the wall they rested against to oust himself upwards. Marrisa already had her weapon, so she merely waited for Troy.

He walked over to the weapons rack and picked up a long bronzes word, tested the wight before shrugging and standing opposite her.

She grinned wickedly, showing off her teeth and waiting for hi to smile back. It was a small sad smile, she looked to see his eyes, but noticed they were stil obscured from her vision. She honestly felt like pouting, just to see if that'd make him laugh, maybe shake some of that baggy hair from his eyes. That's when she realized he definitely needed a haircut. And soon.

"Ready, Troy?" She said, swinging her trident from hand to hand, smirking once the rptrick was deemed successful by herself. "I was born ready, Zale" He flashed her a grin of his own and she caught a glimpse of sea-green. She made some lame joke about the Hunger Games and saw him stiffen. His sword seemed to dance as he spoke. "No time for jokes, Zale." She pushed her own black hair out of her face, or at least she pushed the strand which had fallen out of her ponytail out of her face.

They circled each other. It always went like this, she'd attack first. They both knew it, it was just a matter of time. She watched him, as he moved, there was something off about him today. She knew it. They carried on for a few more minutes. She watched as he lowered his sword arm probably to rest it,and in that sedcond she charged. She watched as he clumsily aimed to block it, just barely succeeding before she went in again.

The sword was unbalanced in his hand, she soon realized. That's what you get for not taking more time in picking a actually balanced sword. She couldn't help the cocky smirk that soon etched itself onto her face.

They slashed and parried, he blocked, she hit. Sometimes the order would reverse, him attacking her defending. She watched as he tried to get a hit in, he left his left side wide open, she quickly went for it, but he was quick. He saw what she was dong and quickly changed tactics, forgetting about the blow he would have applied and instead defended. "What, getting tired, Troy?"

She saw his face lit up in anger, which definitely threw her slightly off game. It was just a friendly taunt, they said them all the time to one another. He charged in, she blocked. "How'll you ever win the Hunger Games if you fight like that?" She let the words fly out of her mouth as she trphrusted forward with her weapon, going in for the win. Instead what she found was that Troy was pressing her, hard, he was slashing and hacking. Driving her towards the wall, she had no choice but to continue blocking.

"Troy, it was just a friendly taunt, I-" but he cut her off with even more attacks, she had not choice but to concentrate on their fighting. And then Before she knew it, she was pressed against the wall, she felt hersweat stained tank top stick to the brick. And suddenly she was hyper aware of everything. Like how Troy had just disarmed her and was currently very close, and I top of it was also missing his weapon. His hands were on either side of her, caging her to the wall. She squirmed, but he blocked her from really doing anything. She had to bit her lip to stop some sort of growl from escaping her lips.

"Troy-" He cut her off angrily, she could see the sweat beads on his forehead, dripping down the side of his face. "Is this some kind of game to you? Huh? We could die, during the Hunger Games. If we were reaped or stupid enough to volunteer, we could die. Does that now make sense to you? Huh?" His voice seemed deadly calm, polar opposite of how Marrisa's would have been. Marrisa felt her bottom lip curl in frustration. Hands balling up beside her.

"Troy, shut up! What the Hell are you even going on about?!" She screamed, feeling anger start to bubble up inside her. She wanted to slap him, she really did. "The games, you keep making stupid jokes about them! As if innocent kids weren't going to be dying, as if we weren't potentially going to be dying." She Was angry now, fuming, she tried pushing him off of her, but he was stronger. "Huh, Marrisa, can you stop thinking about yourself for just one second and consider things. People will die, kids will die and here you are making jokes about it?"

He punched the wall next to her, she thought she heard a crack. Troy was breathing raggedly, slowly and unevenly. Gently, as if in a trance he let go of her. Stood up straight and looked her straight in the eye. Green was on blue and she felt slightly seasick.

"Marrisa, when those games were announced I was terrified. For you and me both, but then you started asking if you thought we could win, and I though that you were thinking about volunteering, then you kept making jokes and it and taunting me with it. No Marrisa, there are some boundaries, some jokes aren't funny, Ok? And it hurts and scares me, because for all I know it, I'm gonna get picked, if I do, then just know I'll be dead Ina week. We could win it together Marrisa, I didn't lie about that part, but we could only win together. Neither of us have the strength to win it, Ok, that's my honey answer. And if you wanted to win so badly that you'd kill your best friend. Well... That's just something to think about I guess." Marrisa stared at his sea-green eyes, she looked into them, they were cold and swimming with emotions. She wanted to punch him.

Then came the thing she'd come to regret so much later on, she looked him in the eye, and walked out of the training arena. Not so much as a glance behind her. Pretending not to hear his muffled sobs or the sound of tears hitting the ground.


	27. Reapings, I

**District 1**

 **Tribute: Midas Ambertide.**

 **Age: 17 years**

 **Gender: Male**

Midas' finger throbbed. It'd only been a light cut, but it stung. The blood no longer visible anyways. It didn't go numb nor did it hurt like crazy, but it definitely stung. And that hurt. They'd pricked his finger, it was a way of identifying him, or so he was told. He couldn't trust the Capitol with anything. They took his bleeding cut and had stamped the red liquid onto a page laid out in front of him. He'd waited patiently in line while everyone got their fingers pricked, boys in one line, girls in the other. When they told him to go stand with the others after getting his finger pricked, he almost asked, 'who?' Before realizing he meant the other males his age.

He was standing among the sea of seventeen year olds. Some bigger and faster, older, others the minimum age, twelve, scrawny and weak. He mentally flinched when he caught the eye of a young boy, eyes-rimmed red and whimpering slightly. Midas was tall, so much so that he could see over the heads of most of the other children his age. He wasn't broad shouldered or particularly big, he was lean and slightly muscled. Kinda like a swimmer, he thought. Not everyone was done yet, in fact, it'd been by alphabetical last names. His was Ambertide, one of the first.

He was searching the crowd, maybe it was for Maya, if so he definitely would not admit to it. He wanted to see her face, maybe confirm that the malicious smiles and eyes that seemed to threaten him, were not part of his imagination. Created by his own paranoia and fear. He wished, at that moment, that his last name were later on in the alphabet. It was so boring, slightly nerve wracking, to just stand here waiting. He was just waiting around there. His head still hurt too, woken up on the wrong side of the street. Because brick walls were always the comfiest of pillows.

He felt hazel orbs roam his neck and he turned his head so swiftly he almost hit the boy in front of him. Who'd protested to the fact and called Midas somethings he'd rather not repeat. He knew he'd felt it. It was strange, he thought,how he just knew it was her, even without having to look. He just knew, this was the type of things star crossed lovers felt, soul mates felt. Two people with such a strong bond, they could sense one another. His bond with Maya though, was not one of love, but of hate. Him and her were nothing like those in fairy tales, with one clear good guy and one bad. They had both commited sins, Midas just liked to think he Had commited less. He loathed her; She'd striped him of his family and she hated him for the same reasons as everybody else. He was a rebel.

Maya Spencer.

There she was, once more. Her hair seemed to be styled today, she was wearing something nice. A thin white dress, that ruffled slightly near the bottom. It was elegant, yet childish at the same time. She looked beautiful in it no matter, he supposed. She flashed him a smile, full of spite and mischievousness. Gave him a mocking wave. He gritted his teeth and mouthed the words, 'Good luck.' His face full of malicious mockery. To any other these words most likely sounded like a message of goodwill, something said from one friend to another. To him though, they were something entirely different. It was like theory saying, if you wished good luck upon others only bad luck would befall them, something like that. Most of it had been lost to time anyways.

But he and Maya were not friends, they never would be. She had ruined his life, plain and simple. She smiled at him, her eyes full of malice, his own swimming with both bitterness and the sudden urge to want to strangle her. She trailed a finger down her face, mocking a tear. Then her expression changed, she flashed him a wicked grin and took that finger and tore it across her throat. He thought he saw her chuckle darkly to herself.

His fist balled, and he felt a vein at his temple pulsate. He wanted to go charging towards her. Hurt her, embarass her. Like he always did when ever his blue orbs would settled on her doll like features. Anything, if he could just do one Thing, but he knew he couldn't. Wait, Spencer, he thought. That was near the end of the alphabet wasn't it? He turned around to look where the line was, practically none existent. The reapings would soon commence.

He scowled, just another minute closer to doomsday. He was sure Maya had rigged the reapings. It would pull his name, he was sure of it. Why else the smiles, the strange words, messages. It was the only logical conclusion. Her father worked for the Capitol, was on speaking terms with the mayor. Many considered him one of themostpowetful men in the world. He could do anything, no one would even know it was rigged. No one would even care it was rigged. Not if it was his name being pulled.

The mayor just had to do one thing, say a name. Say his name, and he would be sentenced to death. And Mayay ould grin. Her stupid sadistic grin on her stupid perfect face. He growled lowly. His barely mind registered the boy next to him, gulping and shuffling a few feet away.

"Districts in chaos. War raging." A loud, masculine voice boomed from the front. Midas wanted to cover his ears but didn't, he saw a few others who did though. A video had started playing, Midas realized. He scowled and managed to tune most of it out. He focused instead on Maya, who, when she caught him looking had winked. That made him scowl harder. How he wanted to hurt her. He barely even registered when the video ended, it was going on about war and why the games had been created, blah blah blah. Pretty much everything they'd been told yesterday. The District was silent.

He heard footsteps, but chose to ignore them. Most children were watching one another, some even spoke I hushed voices. Then he heard someone tap amicrophone. "Ehem." As if rehearsed the whole sea of bodies turned to face the speaker. A woman, he squinted. Their mayor wasn't a woman. And their mayor certainly did not have bright orange hair and light green skin. She looked like a pumpkin, he would have laughed if not the situation. "Welcome," A wide smile was plastered onto her face as she spoke. Looking slightly too strained, too wide, showing too much teeth. She spoke in a funny accent too, Midas just couldn't pinpoint it.

Wait. _Capitol_. Of course.

"Welcome, to the very first annual Hunger Games. I am Lilith Teacup, the Capitol escort for District 1." She started Clapping, a few of the dignitaries behind her Clapped. No one else joined in. Never mind, a few did. Midas scowled, he'll give you three guesses as to who. "Okay, ehem. I'll start with the ladies then." She gracefully walked over to the bowl, containing the name of every single female of age In the District. Her Feet glided across the stage, it looked as if she were levitating. The strange shoes certainly didn't help either.

She smiled once towards a camera positioned somewhere in thecourtyard, Midas didn't even bother to look. He was fixed, the anticipation early eating him alive. He glanced at Maya, he wished he hadn't. But she drew him towards her, a invisible force. Not one of friendship or soul mates, like most stories spoke of, but of pure and genuine hatred. It was what he often referred it as.

He saw the Capitol lady, Lilith Teacup, reach into the bowl. Her fingers gracefully moved around, as if choosing the right slip of paper. With a jolt he realized, she was building the anticipation up. He could imagine everyone leaning forward in their chairs. Wanting to know, he took one sideways glance atMaya. She seemed to notice.

She winked and then, as if in slow motion, he saw her open her mouth. Horror then pleasure flashed onto his face. "I Volunteer, I volunteer as Tribute."

The world seemed to stop, she had just volunteered. The winks, the smiles. Not only was he going into the games, he'd going into them with Maya. He wasn't sure if this was a curse or blessing. She wanted to kill him, he wanted to kill her. This was, even though Maya wasn't aware, the perfect opportunity for _both_ of them. He'd finally be able to get his revenge.

He watched calmly as Maya confidently made her way up the stage. She was graceful too, like a princess or fairy. The sea of children parted for her as she made sure all the attention was on her. He didin't think it was possible but he felt his hatred grow. She gave him a sharp smile on her way up making sure the cameras didn't catch it. He watched as the Capitol escort gleefully stood there, awaiting who he guessed was soon to become her new favourite tribute. The Capitol darling, he backed out a cold laugh that sounded more like a cough than anything. Probably why he had received an, "Are you sick?" From the boy adjacent to him.

Lilith started speaking as soon as Maya stepped onto the stage. "Well then, what's your name, dear?" She looked estatic, the woman that is. But now that he checked, so did Maya. Great. He also saw Maya's father angrily trying to hold back his fury. He looked mad enough to kill, Midas couldn't help but almost smile. Almost. "Maya Spencer." She flashed a wicked grin to the audience, he could just imagine the Capitol citizens swooning. "Why did you volunteer, dearie?" The woman asks. Face eargerly awaiting Maya's answer. "I have my reasons." She looked so oddly composed for someone of her age, like the calm before a storm.

She waves, not to him but to the camera. It made his scowl only deepen. Lilith clapped her hands together, "Well then, onto the boys." She cheerily made her way over to the boy's jar. He prepared himself for what was to come. Maya smiled at me again, he wished to throttle her. He watched as Lilith stuck her hand into the bowl, she drew out the moment once again, by seeming to carefully select a single slip of paper.

He saw a boy beside him start to whisper prayers quietly to himself. It's gonna be me, no need for prayers, idiot. He saw her perfectly manicured hands reached into the bowl and pullout a paper he could bet contained his name. "Midas Ambertide." There it was, the moment that sealed the deal.

He calmly strode up to the stage, watching as the crowd parted for him as it had with Maya. His body wasn't on Autopilot, he was so hyper aware of everything that it hurt. The faces of the citizens, some smiled. Some In relief and Other in grudges finally being fulfilled. Sick bastards. He lifted a foot onto the steps which led up to the stage. He refused the extended hand Maya had laid out for him. And stood tall, refusing to look at the girl who he hoped had just signed her own death sentence.

He heard the accented voice of their escort from beside him, it seemed amplified by a hundred. Her high pitched squeek now sounding morbid. "Shake hands, you two." He turned and faced the girl who had ruined him, hatred was seeping through his expression. His was an expression of hate. Hers full of Malice.

They shook, it was full of bitter grudges and spoke of the past the two shared. They were enemies, nemeses. He could read the unsaid message, they both could. _I'm coming for you. Once these games start, I'm coming for you._ They turned to face the audience, both of their faces glowering with hatred and venom. Their hands were raised above their head, a sign usually of allies or friends. This, though, was a show of dominance. They both thought that they would be the one to kill the other. As it turned out, perhaps only one of them would be right.

"Your Tributes! District 1!"

* * *

 **District 2**

 **Tribute: Artemis Neverending**

 **Age: 18 years**

 **Gender: Female**

Artemis stood there, crowded in the area of adults. The eighteen year olds. She wondered if she looked at the male counterpart to this crowd, she might find Apollo. Her brother. Her twin. The boy who was suppose to always be there for her, yet had abandoned her the first chance he goT. She gritted her teeth. She hoped he would be picked.

She didn't care if that sounded heartless or cruel, the words of a monster. Because they were the truth, despite everything, truth was someone Artemis believed in, firmly. He had crushed her, broken her. Made her into a cruel child, someone forced to grow old before their time. If he was picked, she would have loved to seethe expression of his new sister. Her replacement. She would love to see the horrors, she would experience the same pain of losing a brother as she had. The same brother nonetheless.

Maybe it'd be better if both children went in, Apoloo and his new sister. If it came down toot,she wondered if Apollo could kill this new sister of his. She bet that he would. Then I her last moments of life, her replacement would see just how much of a monster her brother could be.

She wanted him to feel the blood on his hands and cry, cry and cry. Like she had all those years ago. She glanced at the children still waiting in one, faces of fear. Some were white, pale as the moon. Other looked on the verge of crying. She noticed a child who looked as if he had thrown up, his face pale and sweaty. A little bit of vomit stil, on his lips. She cocked her head to the side. Had she looked like that? She doubted it, she strangely remembered being calm. Scarily so, or the little girl in front of her had at least thought that.

She looked thirteen, with red-rimmed eyes and a snotty nose. How children amused her sometimes. Artemis wondered to herself, how her dear old brother had reacted. To these games. Was he scared, for him or his sister? Had he wanted to volunteer? Somehow she doubted the latter. Artemis herself, actually, was planning on volunteering. She was sick and tired of her home. Of life in general. She wanted a out, most of al she wanted freedom. And something to take her anger out on.

If she won, great. With the prize money she could finally escape that stupid orphanage. She would be known and feared. One day, if she won, she could confront Apollo. Tell him exactly what she thought of him. Rubin his face how, if he had just stayed with her, he could have some of the fortunes as well. If he had just stayed with her. She felt a familiar burning in her eyes. A familiar sound start to bubble in her throat. _Crap. No way in Hell was she crying in front of all these people._ She blinked furiously, trying to remove any trace at all that she'd been crying. Or about to anyways.

She looked around, out of everyone. She think only one had seen. A pitiful glance had been turned her way. Artemis felt like growling or punch no something. She didn't cry and if she did she most definitely did not want any pity for it. This was why she wanted out, nobody understood her. Nobody ever cared either. The one Person she'd ever truly loved had left her to die then laughed about it afterwards. Thrown her out as if she were Yesterday's trash.

Pity, she didn't wNt anybody's pity. She didn't want any soothing words or attempts to cheer her up. Meaningless words of, "I understand" and "I'm sorry." She didn't want any of that. This was her problem anyone who thought otherwise could go to Hell. She didn't need any moral supposed. She Artemis Neverending, dammit.

No, you couldn't understand what she felt. You never would. How would you know if the most important person in your life, the one person who was suppose to have stayed forever suddenly didn't. They treated you as if you had never even existed. You get hurt and instead of beings here to help you, or heal you, it was them who had hurt you in the first place. He didn't die, she saw him evyday at school. Yet he acted as she had. As if she was gone, as if she had never even meant anything to him. She growled this time, actually growled. And as she did she felt a tear sliding down her face. She furiously wiped at her face.

Her throat burned but she didn't care, nobody was seeing her cry like this. She saw people staring, she didn't care. She just wanted to hurt someone. She turned angrily, her head spinning around wildly. She was looking for someone, she knew she was. Everyone knew she was. Then she found him, amongst the other eighteen year olds. There he stood. Apollo.

He seemed frozen from fear, his eyes glued ahead of him firmly. He stared at the stage. She wanted To scream out to him. But knew she wouldn't, couldn't. His golden blonde hair was long. Reaching just below his ear and fell in small waves around his face. He was beautiful, the devil dressed as an angel. He was wearing a dark gray button up, black dress shoes and slacks. He had a hat on. It was black and seemed to for perfectly on his head. The sick of him, made her sick.

"Attention." The voice of their mayor took over the crowd. They turned to face him. "And now, a special video from the Capitol." He pointed to a large screen, lowering itself down. District in chaos. War raging. She tuned out after those words. Focusing instead on what she would say. "I volunteer." Maybe, though maybe she should add more. "I, Artemis Neverending, volunteer as tribute." Maybe. It would come to her, she thought, it would come naturally.

"The Hunger games, a stroke of genius. Designed for the sole purpose of a show of power. A revenge plot against those who rebelled." The video spoke. Images of war and death taking over the screen. She looked over at Apollo his face would have been unreadable to most. But Artemis was his twin, she knew that expression. That was one he would use during class, the one that looked as if he were pay attention but wasn't. Instead his mind was elsewhere.

She squinted her eyes at him, what was he thinking about. Most of the children's eyes were glued to the screen. But quite a few had donewhat Artemis had, glancing at others, watching their reactions. The video then faded to black, the words havinggone throug one year and out the other.

She watched as a slightly pudgy lady walked across the stage. Her hair a bright flamboyant pink, definitely not from around here, Artemis thought. Nobody sane would ever do that to themselves here. She Tapped the mircrophone twice before a wide, and forced, smiled plastered itself onto her face. "Welcome, children, to the first annual Hunger Games." She clapped, Some children joined in with her. Mostly out of fear, Artemis was not one of these children. Nor was Apollo. "I am Sisabelle Malek, District 2's Capitol escort." That explained the accent, Artemis thought distantly.

"Fantastic. Ladies first then." She watched as the woman hobbled along the stage towards the glass bowl which sat eargerly awaiting a name to be pulled. The woman is wearing heels, which are few inches too long if you ask Artemis. The woman then stuck her pudgy hand into the bowl, she ruffled her hand around the names, trying to pick the right one apparently. Artemis growled, she was growing impatient.

It was a spur of the moment thing, really it was. She head a vice oierce through the silence, it took her a moment to realize it was her own. "Hurry up woman, so I can fucking volunteer!" Immediately she clamped her mouth shut. Cr _ap._ She watched the woman turn to face her. "Well, um, then come on up, dearie." Her voice was timid and shocked. Artemis tried not to look sheepish, instead she plastered on a confident smirk. A cold and calculating smile. And a mischievous glint to her eyes.

The crowd of children parted for her. She glared at one girl who smirked at her. Her eyes seeming to say, _Congrats, you just killed yourself._ She backed down soon enough. Artemis walked calmly and confidently, making her way to the escort, who looked at little terrified herself actually. Artemis grinned, it was wicked and malicious. She must have looked savage. She'd watch the tapes later on anyways.

She made her way up the stairs, and stood tall next. A good foot taller than her escort, she wanted to laugh, but didn't find the circumstances quite matched. She smiled, she was finally getting her way out. She was finally getting her freedom. "So darling, what's your name?" She looked at the woman besides her. She was frail, weak. Artemis shot her a wicked grin. "Artemis Neverending." She looked at the crowd, hoping to see a glint of blonde.

"Why'd you volunteer, hon?" The pet names were definitely starting to annoy Artemis, she didn't let it show though. "None of your goddamn business." That shut her up, Artemis grinned. Her tongue still as sharp as silver. She looked at the crowd, barely registering the woman call out the fact that she was going to go and pick the male. Artemis was looking for Apollo.

She saw a flicker of gold and a hunt of black. Found you. She watched his expression, it was full of something. For once, Artemis found that she couldn't read him. She made sure her expression was unreadable as well. She looked calm and collected. Mature way beyond her years. She was sure of it, his face, as well as hers, was set in stone. The twins simply stared and she felt disgusted by him. She wanted to throttle him, really she did. A amen was called but she paid no attention to it. Barely anyways.

"I volunteer!"

Was heard, but not registered in Artemis' mind. She just kept staring at her twin. Hate seeping through her features. He left her, he abandoned her. He drove her to the point of practically suicide. Self criticism. Was she not good enough? Is that why he left her? Was she not smart enough? Pretty enough? Charismatic enough? He had broken her and fractured her. Made her doubt herself in ways she'd never thought imaginable.

"Asher Valentine."

Vaguely mentioned, her gaze never wavered. She must have looked possessed, staring unblinking into the sea of faces. But she could only see one. She briefly saw the cameras zooming in on the boy beside her, she didn't care. She couldn't care.

"Amd why'd you volunteers?"

He was staring at her, not smiling, he seemed void of emotion. She snarled quietly to herself. Here was the boy who'd hurt her, physically altered her. Emotionally changed her. Here he was, he looked at her as if she were a stranger. As if she were nothing more to him then the broken relationship the two now shared.

"I knew him."

He wasn't even crying for her. Or looking in the least bit worried. That bastard. For her whole life, he'd been all she could rely on. The single force that was constantly there. Then he was gone, he treated her like scum and left. He didn't talk to her, didn't even look at her if he didn't have to.

"Care to elaborate."

Despite everything, if it had been him being sent off to these death games, she'd have at least looked slightly worried. At least partially. She would have shown emotions, whether good or bad, she would have shown them. He was like stone and she hated him for it.

"No thank you, Ms."

God, she wished for a second that it wasn't her going to these games. That it was his new sister, maybe if only for the reason that she wanted to see him cry. See his voice crack when he shouted her name. When his face lost all colour when the pink haired escort picked her skip of paper. She wanted that to happen.

"Well aren't you precious."

"Shake hands, sweethearts." Artemis turned and shook. The boy was much larger than her, with broad shoulders and toned arms. He would be competition, she was sure. But too compassionate. Too sweet, she observed by the way he held her hand. Gently, if not a little careful.

"Two volunteers, my, my. District 2, your tributes!"

* * *

 **District 3**

 **Tribute: Zelda Knightly**

 **Age: 16 years**

 **Gender: Female**

Zelda's finger brought back memories. It wasn't the good, nor was it the pain or scaring. It as the idea of being told what to do, constantly ordered around and being too helpless to stop it. That was her, that was her.

She vaguely remembered hearing Words of orders, telling her to do. Telling her exactly what to do. They spoke to her in an irritates voice, the peacekeepers pricking her finger. They had after she'd stared at them confused. The man had grown impatient, he'd forced her to put her hand to the paper. Forced her, she'd been helpless to stop him.

She was much too weak, he was much too big. She was much too scared. She wished she had a book on her, something to calm herself. Anything to clam herself. She wondered if she'd been born smart at computers like her mother, if she wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe she'd have been able to escape, God knows the only reason her mother hadn't was because of Zelda. Which, although made her feel guilty, she also took great pleasure in hearing the fact. It was nice to know that someone other than Dominick cared.

Zelda thought that, if she were reaped no one would care. No one. Maybe her mother and Dominick to an extent, but what was two people in a District of thousands? Maybe it'd be better off her, better off her be chosen. She wouldn't cause as big of a fuss if she were reaped. Her being chosen would prevent so many more from being hurt. Maybe she should just volunteer and end her life, like the words had been telling her to do for months.

Oh the Words. They ran her life for her didn't they? It would be the Words volunteing for death, not her, if they decided they wanted to be brave. Or cowardly, depending on your views. She would be brave, to sacrifice herself for hundreds of potentially sad others. But ending ones life was the cowards' way out, she knew that. It was a sins, and no matter what words told her, she would not commit said sin anytime soon.

She would regret it, she knew she would.

Standing in the crowd, Zelda was slightly claustrophobic. The sweat and clothes of the others were all dangerously close to herself. She tried squishing inwards, not to touch anyone. At al costs. She wasn't germs phobic, she wasn't obsessed with being clean, but these were the children who had torturdered her. Tormented her as she grew. She wished she didin't sound so cruel when she said she wouldn't mind if any of them got reaped. Then she would shrink back in guilt, or at least she wished she did.

She didn't, instead she would smile. The Words they'd told her over the years flashing through her mind. Replaying all that they'd said, done to her. With every Word, she could feel herself grow more butt, more secluded and cruel. She could feel them twisting her inside out until their meaning were burned into her mind. She wished to see them be punched, kicked, hurt. Like they had done to her. She wanted her pain to be felt, this was a feeling of cold hard revenge. She wanted revenge. Zelda was a timid girl, someone who couldn't stand her own in a fight even it was her who had inniciated it. But her thoughts, her visions were anything but, her thoughts were cruel. But only to her tormentors, only to her tormentors.

All these thoughts, were those of someone not mentally stable. Of someone far past the gone, she didn't realize it then, but these thoughts would certainly come back to haunt her. She became disgusted with herself, or would become disgusted. These were the thoughts her assailants had, not her, but she couldn't help them. They just kept streaming through.

One could never control one's own thoughts, we keep what we want under control private. Because if not, power over others would be lost, trust would be erased, and war would rage. In one's own mind, none of these applied, there were no prying eyes. These thoughts were private, always will be. She couldn't control them, her thoughts, her voices in her mind yearned for freedom. Her mind was somewhere where they could have the freedom they desired. And so, the sadisstic thoughts streamed through. Zelda becoming paler by the minute, more disgusted and inhuman with herself than ever.

She looked to the stage, a man with dukes violet hair was sitting in one of the chairs, talking quietly to the woman besides him. Zelda watched as he made her laugh, cocking her head to the side. Zelda was not smart in computers, nor in the likes of mathematics or science. But she was a genius in human communication, reading and writing. She could read men and woman like an open book, was creative and intelligent in things opposite of graphs and symmetrical lines. She was messy doodles and bright colours. Dulled by her own insanity.

A video started, but Zelda kept her eyes focused on the man with the purple hair. His skin was a dark brown, with purple eyeliner and most of his clothes seemed tailored to match. He was watching the video, Zelda barely registered the world it spoke.

"Children die, their parents dead. They are murderred by those who fight for what they believe is freedom, when all they have done is restrict it more." The voice interest Zelda, it is loud and calm, despite the matte it speaks of. Images of a lone boy flashes across the screen, sounds of bloodlust and screams echoing faintly in the background. Zelda looks away, the Words of the video replaying themselves in her mind.

The video, according to Zelda, is about three minutes long. She wonders if anyone else can feel the tension throughout the courtyard. She sees sweat stat to pool on the foreheads of some. A girl is hitting her lip nervously, the girl besides her biting her nails to the wicks.

She sees many tear-stained faces, red rimmed eyes and puffy noses. Zelda touches her face gently, no stickiness. None, just her cold pale skin, she trails her fingers along her cheek. Gently tracing the outline on which a tear, if any had fallen, would have followed. Wondering if she was hated for being heartless, if not, then after tonight it would certainly be added to the list.

She feels disturbed by her own lack of emotion. She squints her eyes and tries to make a tear fall, even if just to look normal. Zelda was far from normal, even now she k ew that. It was more to convince herself than anybody else. She heard footsteps, strangely hollow against the wooden planks of the stage. The District dead quiet, the only sound were those of the strange man. Who Zelda guessed was from the Capitol.

"Good day, ladies and gents. Today is the very first reaping of the annual Hunger Games!" His performance was lovely, with wild hand gestures and goofy faces, she heard a few giggles escape some mouths. It was to lighten the mood, she could see it on his face. He felt bad, he was trying To make us feel better.

The laugh was strained though, more as of the children laughing were trying to get one last shard of happiness, one last memory of the feeling. The laugh was a desperate grab for happiness, he knew, she realized, he knew. She squinted at him, but his reasons still seemed genuinene.

"I am Zamboyang, but you can call me Zambo, Carzicoiski." Zelda winced at the name, and there had been a time when she thought the kids a school would have a hard time porunouncing Zelda. "I gues I'll be starting with the ladies then." He walked briskly over to the bowl, sparing not eve another second before he pulled out a slip of paper. Zelda blinked, that was fast. She'd assumed he would have noted to take it slower, built up the suspense maybe. She guessed she'd assumed wrong.

"Ehem, let's see who the lucky winner of today is." Zelda visibly flinched with those words, whoever was chosen was most certainly not a winner. They were a loser, someone sentenced to death. This wasn't just some third grade football match you lost and then continued on with your day. No, the penalty for losing in this game, just one false move, was death. He fingered the paper, gently thumbing over writing.

"Zelda Knightly." Time froze, she's shocked, scared. She saw the crowd move to let her through, but she didn't. Her two feet stayed planted firmly to the ground. No, no, no. This wasn't happenings. Tell her it wa all just some bad dream. Then she heard it again. "Zelda Knightly, is there a Zelda Knightly here?" Zelda quickly snapped out of her face and quickly stumbled to the stage, she tripped once on her feet but managed to recover. She pretended not to hear the word, 'Freak' mumbled under someone's breath. Nor the quiet snickers everyone seemed to be producing.

She clambered up the stairs to the stage. "Hello, Zelda." She nodded in response. Well, she thought bitterly, at least now my District's finally gotten rid of me. "What a lovely name that is." She nodded again. He smiled at her, it seemed genuine to her, but she couldd never quite tell with those of the Capitol.

"Well then, onto our dashing gents." He strode over quickly, like he'd done with girls, and picked one just as fast, as he'd done With the girls. "Derek Findlay." The crowd seemed silent once more. Then she watched in small horror as the small cluster of twelve year olds parted. A small boy lefties standing in the centre. He looked around confused, he then got up on his tiptoes and did some hand gestures to the seventeen year old section. Sign language, she realized.

"No. I volunteer to take his place as the male tribute of District 3." The boy who'd spoken didn't wait for a response as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd and pulled himself up into the stage. He was good looking, Zelda'd give him that. Zambo looked at him, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And what might your name be?" He gulped before gazing over the crowd. "Velkan Findlay."

"Was that your brother?" Velkan's Adam Apple bobbed up and down as he rubbed the back of his neck. He looked nervous, Zelda didn't blame him. He'd pretty much just sentenced himself to death. "Um, cousin." Zelda couldn't help but feel a small pity for the boy. "Well aren't you two precious. Shake hands." So they turned, he was taller than Zelda by a bit, she had to crane her neck slightly to look him in the eye. They shook and turned, raising their fists high into the air.

"District 3! May I present to you, your tributes." Zelda, still in shock, smiled. The situation feeling like a bad dream, she'd just have to wait another few hours to wake up. How wrong she'd been, how truly wrong she had been.

* * *

 **District 4**

 **Tribute: Oliver Seadowns**

 **Age: 14**

 **Gender: Male**

Oliver bit down onto his bottom lip in worry. He was nervous, that was for sure. He wondered whether he should be grateful for not prying into what his parents had been talking about, he now knew this to be the Hunger Games, or not. Because he hadn't pushed until they spilled, in fact he'd tried to forget about it altogether, he'd been able to spend his last few days in peace, contentment. He'd played cards games with Casimir and Ursula, winning of course. Oliver wasn't sure how many more days like that he'd receive. How many more days he wouldn't have to worry about death being a constant threat over his head, at least, until he turned nineteen.

If he had asked though, maybe he could have prevented it, somehow. He wasn't sure. Maybe they could've tried hiding, gone riding and never looked back. They would've found him sometime though, he was sure the consequence for that would be much worse than anything the Hunger Games had to offer. He meant it too. Maybe he could've just a little more prepared when they'd shouted out the announcements. Told everyone of their plan, he'd wished he's been just slightly more prepared for that kind of shock. Because he hadn't bee, he'd remembered Ursula saying something, but his mind was in shock.

What? What had they just said, his mind had frozen over, eyes glazed, and then spots forming around the edges of his eyelids. He'd almost fallen back, almost fainted, he'd seen himself in slow motion, slowly falling backwards, then, as of magic, he'd jolted back to reality. Just managing to scrape his hand trying to steady his landing. A little blood and that'd been it, he remembered Casiimir rushing forward, asking him if he was Ok, he'd just stared ahead. The face of their mayor had seemed pale as snow as he continued on with the explanation. Oliver thought he might barf, the mayor looked on the verge of it as well.

He hadn't slept that night, insomnia taking over his self. He was too scared to sleep, to scared to let himself over to the darkness where nightmares were formed. He remembered his sister's ragged breathing and little brother's quiet sobs. He hadn't made a sound, had looked up at the wooden planks of the ship and refused to fall asleep. He regretted that decision now.

His eyelids felt heavy against his skill,his hands hung uselessly by his sides. He yawned and out of the corner of his eye, thought he someone else do so as well. His finger bleeding was what had shocked uk just enough to keep going, the needle entering his flesh had jolted him awake. But that'd been a few minutes ago, he felt tired once again. Casimir was by his side, seeming to refuse to look at him. He felt a nudge on his side and looked next to himself at Casimir, he hissed at a the boy who seemed to show no reaction.

"What?" He growled out lowly, albeit a bit fast. He was getting slightly annoyed at his long time friend. He squeezed his fist in hope that it's stop the blood from trickling out any further. He felt a light punch on his shoulder and rolled his eyes, but turned nonetheless to see what the boy was getting at. Not without an overly dramatic sigh to accompany it.

He saw Casimir point towards the stage, "Look at him, he's got blonde, like _really_ blonde hair." This was Casimir speaking, with his mouth pulled into a tight line, almost as if he were slightly terrified of this blond man's hair. Oliver wasn't that interested, so he's got blond hair. Lots of people have blond hair. He had blond hair, it was just slightly dirtied, sandy blond. "Like super blond, I don't think that's natural. Oh yeah, also, he's got gold skin." That got Oliver's attention, his eyes snapped over to where are the important people sat. Those who had all the power. And sure enough, there he was the 'blond' haired 'golden' skinned man.

He didn't really have gold skin, just an array of golden tattoos circling up and down his back. They were plants, but they were also animals, they were faces that told stories, they were everything imaginable. Oliver felt himself getting fixed, _if I'd been born in the Capitol, I'd get that._ He looked just over twenty three, he's quite young. Oliver thought in confusion, why so young? The blonde hair, sorry, the _really_ blond hair, was just a platinum colour. It looked quite nice, but Oliver preferred his own muted blond hair.

He'd always thought Caoitol people would look more alien, with big lips, eyes, tiny noses, strange skin, and weird hair. This man seemed pretty normal compared to what he'd had in mind. He could be mistaken for just some albino, heavily tattooed adult male from District four. If you ignored the way his eyes seemed without the sadness behind them, his cheeks full and not sunken, the lack of a constant air of sadness around him. These were the things that gave him away. Their mayor, sat slumped into his seat, even though he was the man with the most power in their District. His eyes had the sadness of loss and pain, buried deep beneath them, this is what a man of District four should look like.

He felt someone cough loudly into a microphone before he heard it, the vibrations it sent through the courtyard startling. "Please turn your attention the screen." Their mayor, a wide man of small stature, was pointing as he spoke to a big piece of paper. Which then lit up in images. Of bombs and blood, people screaming and children dying. "Districts in chaos. War raging." The video spoke in a loud intimidating voice, but it was so loud, most of the children had covered their ears. Even the mayor and dignitaries winced as the voice spoke. Evidently, almost no one had heard what the video' said, they'd just stood there for three minutes with their hands over their ears and eyes closed.

When the video finally came to a close, it was the relief that poured through his veins that alerted him it was. The sighs of contentment the other children made. It was definitely safe to say that the first annual District 4 reapings, had started out extremely badly. _Extremely_ badly. He saw the light pink on their mayor's cheeks, and couldn't help but grin slightly.

"Um.. Thank you for your attention, now, may I welcome, Regale Casopalvo." He clapped, and a scattered clapping filled the courtyard. The children competing out of sync and tone With one another. He wasn't a music lover so he simply snickered quickly to himself. "What's so funny, Seadowns?" He flashed a wicked grin a Casimir, "Nothing to concern yourself with, _Cass-Cass_." It was safe to say his childhood nickname shut him up.

The man stood briskly up and strutted across the stage, not artisan toy, but calming lay. Oliver liked this Capitol man, for some reason he did. "Welcome, children, to the first annual Hunger Games! The reapings for Distorct 4!" He raised single fist in the air, and the children clapped below him. "Like, your dear mayor mentioned, I am Regale Casopalvo, the Capitol escort for D4!" More scattered clapping.

"Ok then, let's start with the ladies, shall we?" The twenty-something year old seemed reluctant as he walked across the stage. Oliver cocked his head, how exactly did they choose the escorts? How did you qualify, exactly? He seemed guilt as he reached into the bowl and seemed to stare in fear at one of the many cameras scattered around the yard. Oliver's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. The escorts, they had to be somewhat willing to do this, right? He watched as Regale's thin fingers finally grasped a name, he pulled it out slowly. Muttering somethin under his breath, he looked at Casimir to see if he'd caught any of it. He appeared not To have as his eye remained fixed greedily on the bowl filled names.

Regales cleared his throat. Sweat starting to form on his forehead as he read the name. "Legala-" "I volunteer!" A shrill high pitched request echoed through the courtyard, he saw a young girl of about seventeen push her way to the front of the crowd and scramble up the stage. Not waiting for the group to do it for her. "What might your name be?" Regular asked with minor confusion. "Marrisa Zale." She smiled, black hair glinting in the sun. "Why'd you decided to volunteer, Marrisa?" She bit the inside of her cheek, see I to decided whether or not to tell him. "Personal reasons." He nodded at this, not prying any further, strange.

"Onto the men now." He walked towa rds the bowl as Marrisa seemed to scan the sea of bodies, maybe looking for someone, maybe just for something to do.

He walked towards the glass container that contained his name, somewhere. His fingers stretched inside, and time seemed to slow. He waited, wanting him to get it over with as soon as he could. Please just pick one. As reading his mind, Regales picked a paper. His eyes skimmed over the name once, Oliver imagined hIm trying it out once in his head before saying it out loud. Why had the girls reaping seemed so much shorter?

"Oliver Seadowns."

Disbelief edged it's way into his face. No way, no way. That was his name, wasn't it. That was him, he was the one-

he was going to-

Casimir and Ursula they-

And then he saw the crowd part for him, unlike Marrisa he hadn't rushed forward at the chance of dying. He felt like outing, he felt a cold hand touch his shoulder as he looked into the pale face of his best friend. "Cas-" his best friend looked sickly, he looked about ready to die as he leaned in and whispered, "Go, Oliver." Into Oliver's ears, that made him feel sickly too. He space Csaimir a small smile, Cas' face looked fearstriken, he saw tears moisten his eyes. Oliver felt a hard sob lodged itself into his throat and the start it ears burning behind his eyelids.

He walked slowly to the stage and climbed up. "Hello there, Oliver." He heard sympathy in the escorts' voice, but was too shocked to saw anything, too sad to say anything, too ready to die to say anything. Out the fear it'd be something he'd regret. Instead his eyes searched the crowd for Ursula, when he couldn't find her he deflated. Forcing his eyes back onto his best friend. His eyes were red-time do and he was crying, he saw the tears glisten off of his cheeks as he furiously wiped them away with his shirt, and soon a Oliver felt like crying to, but he couldn't. He couldn't imagine what kind of effect that'd give the Capitol. He escort seemed sad for him, so he just whispered low enough for only the cameras, Oliver and Marrisa to hear, "Shake hands."

They did and Oliver wondered why she'd volunteered, but her eyes spoke of sadness and he decided not to pry. He'd blue eyes weren't red-rimmed or full of doubt, they were full of confidence and strength. This was what Victors were made of, confidence and strength. Oliver didn't realize it at the time, but the arrogance was practically entirely forced, and maybe Oliver still needed to realize just how many of his own smiles were fake. The quiet, sad, voice of their escort came through. No louder than a man speaking to his children.

"Your tributes, District 4."

* * *

 **I just realized I gave Midas both the Reactions chapter and the Reapings. Uh, oops. It'd meant to do Maya's, I swear. Well, I guess Maya'll just get the next two Povs for D1. So yeah, here are the reapings.**


	28. Reactions, II

**District 5**

 _Diana Riverton (18) and Chritian Powers (14)_

Diana had already previously known about the games, she had. Her grandmother had found out about them through the stupidity of their very own District. She'd tried to feign surprise during the announcements but she'd never been the best actress. Her grandmother had Told her that they were always watching, every single move you made was being recorded. Her reaction upon finding out about these games was no different. She'd had June with her there as well, who'd pretty much just made her feel like even worse of an actress, being able to look just surprised enough as to not raise any suspicion.

Diana on the other hand, was pretty sure that she'd looked like a constipated mule. The mayor's voice had wavered several times, her eyes glistening and face looking on the verge of illness or tears. Sometimes both. Diana knew why. The mayor had twos sons. One of them eligible to the games. Christian Powers. The little red-head who's head was always in some sort of gadget or gizmo. Of course his name wouldn't be in more than the necessary amount, but his name would still be In there. She wondered what it would feel like, being the most powerful person In the Distirct, yet still be so powerless against the Capitol.

Diana wasn't sure, but she felt her views shift slightly, Loyalist. That was what she was, a loyalist. But sometimes she wondered how she supported the Capitol. Then the memory of her parents lifeless bodies starring up at her wedding Und resurface and she would know exactly why she hated the Rebels as much as she did.

Diana knew how much it would hurt if her child, her baby was sent off to die. How much it would hurt if you had althe power in the world, except for the power to keep your child safe. How much that must hurt, Diana wasn't sure. When the mayor had gotten to the part about the age limits, Diana was sure Mayor Powers was going to puke. Ages twelve to eighteen. Her youngest child was fourteen, her older one just turned eighteen a few months back. How grateful she must be.

If June was reaped, Diana would volunteer. She would. She had to, June wouldn't be able to survive. Diana wouldn't be able to survive, if June were picked. She had to imagine the absolute horrors of watching June fight, the insane nerves, anxiety and anticipation, in a way of dread, would be scarring. Seeing June make decisions based on nothing more than intuition and yelling 'No' when the time eventually came. She could imagine June forming alliances and Diana not trusting a single one of the members. Her heart pun ding so loud in the eerie silences during the games, her face sweaty while she bit her lip in fear. She could imagine these clearly and they scarred her, her sweet precious June going out to fight. Her beautiful June dying. In the moments Diana was sure that if June was reaped, Diana would volunteer.

She remembered standing in the courtyard, having the her grandmothers' stories be proven true right in front Of her eyes, had been torture. The absolute reality of these games had hit her. She wouldn't want to become a rebel, ever. But this game was pushing her. The only bright side to if she were chosen would be karma against the rebels. Those stupid rebels who'd gotten her parents, her family killed. Murderred.

She would be able to rip out their heart and finally teach them a lesson, but Diana was a lot of things. A monster was not one of them. She hoped it wasn't at least. She hoped it wouldn't be at least. Because murder seemed so simple in retrospect, just pierce the heart with a blade as simple as that. But could she really do it? Properly.

Could she pick up a sword, knife, whatever and draw blood. They all had families, the children who would be murderred. Some might have relationships like hers withJune. They all had a past, all had a Yesterday. Could she take all that away from them? They all had unwritten scars of their backstories, could she be the one to rob them of it so? They would be rebels, but some would be loyalist, some neutral. How should she know who's who? Besides the interviews where anyone could easily lie.

She just hoped it would never have to Come to that. To the point where she really didn't even know herself anymore. To the point where insanity had one ple tell taken her in and she murderred for the Hell of it. Diana got up from the bed and stormed to the bathroom. Angrily and clumsily stumbling along the way, trying to not to notice the burning pain in her eyes. Locking the white door behind her and pulling out the knife she kept behind the toilet. She angrily felt more tears streaming down her face and wiped furiously for the To stop. Rolling up her sleeves, she cut.

One straight line over her forearm, pure red exploded on her arm and the pain it emitted was soothing. She did it again and again. The white lines of her past crisscrossing onto one another. She couldn't stop, she wouldn't stop. Her arms ached with the self inflicted pain, her body begged her to stop by her subconscious wouldn't listen. She kept going, more tears fell, they weren't controlled and she wasn't holding back. She felt her legs go slack and her hands flew to cover her tear stained face, she sobbed quietly. If you didn't put your ear right next to the door, you wouldn't be able to hear it, but it was still there.

A horrible buzzing started in the back of her mind and her senses dulled. The world went black as Diana looked at the bloody mess on her arm, what she'd done to herself. And stragely she didn't regret it, instead she wanted more.

* * *

 **District 6**

 _Iris Elmswood (14) and Aston Swifte (18)_

Iris hummed quietly to herself, to try and escape the torturous thoughts begging to enter her mind. She could hear faint voices at the back of her skull, just there, not making a move or threatening her in any way. Simply there. They didn't speak to her, they didn't make any useful comments or help her in any way, shape or made Iris curious.

Iris wasn't stupid, she knew voices in the back of your skull weren't normal. Seeing the world in different shades or having conversation muted when she tried recalling them, was not normal. She could faintly feel herself slipping into the realm of insanity, of hysteria and insane. She wished she could stop it, but the Caoitol had done this to her and her alone. She'd came home after the announcement. Thinking and scared, these games were a new form of type of torture she was sure. A form meant to punish her, a form that would punish Her. To the sweet shop she held so dearly to her heart. What she'd saw had made her shriek. She'd been trying to tie up her hair, the red locks had never quite stayed still. She dropped her hand, the elastic still tangled in her hair. There, in a heap of bodies and blood, were her parents. Her mother's hand over her father's torso.

Her hands had flew to cover her mouth but the peacekeepers still turned. She'd tried to run, but the bloody whip the man was holding had stopped her. She'd cried out as it hit her back, she'd fallen to her knees. She was sobbing into her shirt, not wanting the peacekeeper to know just how much it hurt her. Just how much she wanted to pass out from the pain, so that it no longer tormented her. But she hadn't, instead all she could hear was the sly voice of the man who she believed to have killed her family.

"Hey there, girlie. You a rebel too, or is it just your parents?" A rebel? What were they talking about? Her parents and her were neutral, neutral. They didn't partake in the war, none of them had. When she refused to speak, another whip came down, Iris screamed again. But she could feel herself slowly fading to black. She felt the sickly red liquid trail down her back and she heard it hit the floor, the whole street was eerily calm. She noticed the shut blinds and turned off lights, she'd scowled bitterly to herself. People she'd known her whole life, would just sit there as she was whipped because they were too afraid of getting whipped themselves. They were all selfish cowards.

"Not... a rebel." She'd managed to croak out after the pain had subs titled enough for her to formulate a proper sentence. She felt a tear rol down her face but barely acknowledged it. Barely. "My.. Ma and... Pa... We're not... Rebels." She managed as an after thought. She was currently on her stomach. Her hands pinned down beneath her. She felt something flip her over. The cold hard segment was burning against her open wounds. The whip marks seemed to multiply by pain times ten as he pushed her harder into the ground, she felt dirt and mud creep up into her cuts, they would get infected she was sure.

"You sure about that, girlie?" She felt a whip across her cheek before promptly passing out. The blood made Iris feel even more nauseous than she already did.

When she woke up, she was in a bedroom. It was a clean and pristine little place, somewhere that she realized, her blood had obviously dirtied. She saw the trails on the door. She pushed upwards and the pain from,sat night flashed back in an instant. She winced as she tried sitting up, managing to do so and propping herself up on the headrest of the bed. She looked down, her entire torso was covered in bandages. She could see the red that was soaking them. She visibly flinched.

Iris didn't know it yet, but it was last nights memories which would eventually spark her insanity of heAring voices and seeing things that weren't really there. "Hello?" She'd called out timidly, not really expecting an immediate answer. Almost instantaneously a plump woman emerged from behind a painted green door. Her dull blonde hair in a messy bun, her clothes were bloodstained as well, Iris could only imagine whose blood that was. She felt strangely guilty, but it passed soon enough.

"Oh, you're awake. How're you feeling, doll?" She seemed slightly overly peppy, which only further increased Iris' unease. Behind her smile Irirs saw worry lines and a fear for the wellbeing of her, Iris. "Fine." She managed to squeak out after a few too many seconds of silence. "What happened...?" She let the question finish itself, knowing the woman would answer her with what she wanted to know.

A dark yet pitiful look passed across the woman's features. "Oh, sweetie, I think that you may have just been set up, to die." Iris passed out again, this time not only from the pain but also the shock. She didn't wake up until the next day.

Where the plump woman had sat beside her and recounted exactly what had happened. Iris would listen as it would be explained how her parents had been rebels. Strong, strong, passionate rebels at that. How Iris never knew of this worried her. Apparently, they'd finally been caught. Revenge was being carried out, to show just how strict the Caoutol would be. No flexibility at all for liars and rebels. and apparently Irirs was guilty by association. Word has it, that the reapings were rigged to pull out her name.

* * *

 **District 7**

 _Veronica Delaney (12) and Oakley Axemoore (16)_

Veronica was scared. She was. Her father may be powerful, her life may have been a walk in the park leading up to this moment, but that didn't stop her name from being pulled. She had just as good as a chance as anyone, except for that fact that her name had simply been entered one time. One single slip of paper among thousands. Veronica knew it wasn't very likely that her name would be pulled, but there was still a chance, there would be a chance until her eighteenth birthday. That was six years, six years she would live in fear of the Caoutol, six years she would feel nervous and scared during the exact same day. That is, if she even made to eighteen and wasn't reaped before.

She had just turned twelve a few weeks ago, if only her birthday had been in a few days, than maybe she wouldn't be freaking out quite this much. Wanting to break down and scream at how unfair it was. Veronica was twelve, the minimum age for someone to participate in this monstrosity of a Game.

How could someone live with themselves when they did such cruel things like this. How could they sleep at night knowing they were murderring children, separating families and inducing fear into everyone hearts instead of respect or love. Nobody loved the Capitol, nobody respected the Capitol everyone feared the Capitol. It may be disguised as something else, whether that be general fondness for the subject or extreme hatred.

It was always fear, some didn't though. She knew some didn't mind the Capitol as much as she knew they should. Especially in the higher up Districts, the Caoitol favourite of 1,2 and 4. They, actually liked the Caoutol, most of them at least. And some in Dostorct so low that they didn't fear what the Capitol would do to them. District 9 was a common birth ground for rebels. They were al extremist would didn't care what the Capitol had to say because They were so far down that the Capitol couldn't even be bothered to enforce the rules. Except for District 11, they had the tightest security out all the District. Ebbing one of the first to join in and one of the more extreme as well.

Veronica also had brothers, who would also be eligible for these games. What would come if both her and her brother were picked. He'd have to kill her if it came down to it, she might have to kill him. That was not something she could even think about, not even in the slightest. And what if it happened that one off her friends were reaped, what then, would she be forced to watch them die before her very eyes.

Veronica was a generally happy person, mature beyond her years, but still generally happy. But she was also realistic, she was twelve with nO prior experience in battle or games of manipulation. She had next to no chance of winning. There would be peacekeeper trained soldiers there, kings and queens of lying and manipulation.

Veronica was about as transparent as glass. None of her friends could win either, they were al, to young, too inexperienced. Veronica was very fortunate, during the war she'd pretty much been sheltered by her rich upbringing. She wasn't as damaged or used to the pain as the others were. She still reared up when she would scrape her knee on the pavement. She was hopeless, her friends were hopeles, she'd have to rely on pure luck to survive the next years of her life. The punishment she didn't deserve for the single fact that she hadn't defied the Caoitol in any way, shape or form.

She'd been the perfect model Loyalist. She hasn't killed anyone or brought the war closer to finishing, but hadn't done anything wrong! She hadn't rebelled against the Capitol, nor had she been neutral and sat on her butt all day waiting to see how it all played out. She'd been involved, she'd gone to protest with her mother and father and brothers. She's helped them, she'd helped the Capitol. She remembered hearing words of insult directed at her simply because of her stance on the war, but she didn't care. She'd stood tall for what she'd believed in. There were already enough insults anyways, about being a snobby rich daddy's girl. That one more slur to the list wouldn't be so bad.

Veronica was a transparent person, she reminded herself of glass. Easy to break, no challenge to see through, but once dirty, everything completely obscured and warped. Veronica quite liked this definition. She would often repeat this to herself, it would calm her. Like a soothing Marta to clam herself.

 _Glass. Easy to break, no challenge to see through, but once dirty, everything completely obscured and warped_.

She'd been seven when the war started. And still she'd been involved, if her name was picked, they would punishing their own kin. This injustice was completely unfair. No man or woman would ever want to stand beside you if you would punch them for doing so. Punish the rebels, punish the neutrals, Veronica didn't care.

They deserved it, they'd stood up to you and tried to bring your hard work crashing and burning to the ground. Punish _them_ , not her! Punish _them_! Kill _them_! Hurt _them_! Veronica wasn't quite sure who 'them' was, but a small voice at the back of her head worried her that maybe she wasn't so loyal to the Capitol after all.

Veronica grit her teeth, it would be this that brought reign of the Capitol to an end. Punishment of their own kin and Horrible corrupt schemes to enforce power. Veronica smiled at the thought, albeit a bit bitterly, to herself.

* * *

 **District 8**

 _Thread Flynn (15) and Rosemary Finch (15)_

Thread found it disgusting how even the homeless rebels would be forced to enter their name into the ballots. How families and children who'd already lost so much, would be forced to lose more. Children of al ages, would be ripped away from those that were the only things keeping them going. The families he fed every day wopere all at risk of being killed, most of them rebels. Some where Loyalist though, which was unfathomnable as to why the Capitol would want to punish their followers. His name would be entered too of course, but that wasn't why he was so absolutely disgusted.

He knew lots of the rebels would enter their name in more than once for the exchange of food, something he knew many needed dearly. He would be happy to se them leave him because of newfound food or shelter, it would mean they were going to be fine. Or at least, as fine as you could get in the Hellhole known as District 8. The industrial wasteland of factories and gray.

Thread wondered if he could win the games, most likely not. Some people were just meant to talk and cook, he was one of those people. He didn't fight during he war because he couldn't, not nearly strong enough. Thread wondered if anyone would bet on him, if he was reaped. Would they sponsor him like they would someone who was obviously better nourished and stronger? Probably. This was all just some pageant, where the strong, the beautiful and the social rose to the top and the rest were left behind.

The smart, the coy, the calculating who were all silent threats building up over time. Then you had people like Thread, who were simply there for the sake of filling up spaces. He wouldn't have any chance, put him right next to someone from District 2 and he looked like chopped liver. Thread wished he wasn't so useless. Wasn't so hopeless.

Probably wouldn't get reaped though, right? It was a giant chance, someothing so unlikely that he barely even registered it during the announcements. It was after the rules were laid and the games were set that the reality seemed to sink in. He could die, he could die out there. Who would feed all the homeless survivors, whiteout home and without food. Sure his friends would do it, but he was perfectly aware that he was the best cook, and the one who knew almost every face that entered. Commiteed their names and stories to memory.

They knew him, and some were so jacked up in the head that if they didn't see him there they would freak. Happened once when he called in sick and asked his mate Thorn to fill in the position. A little boy of about four had walked in with his widowed mother and screamed at the top of his lungs that the the 'usual short cook-y guy thing brown hair man' wasn't currently there. Thorn had come to get him, which wasn't the best since he vaguely remembered coughing on about three different platters of food.

Thread still couldn't seem to accept the fact that these games were a reality. It was strange, the homeless rebels, neutrals and loyalists felt like his children. They were his family, his own dead. They were what replaced them, or at least helped him cope with the pain.

The games had interesting elements, Thread thought. He might actually enjoy watching the games if they simply took out the death part. It'd be a competition, winner would get fame and fortune, losers would get sent home rejected, but not dead. That would be better, he might actually feel honoured if he were chosen to compete for such an event. He would cheer on his favourites with his friends and talk with the children he was serving about it. Discuss the contestants and who their favourite was, if they had a common favourite, easy conversation would be struck up and he thought he would actually really enjoy that. Thread delusions about this and imagined, that would be paradise.

Somehwere where kids weren't straving or being sentenced to death. Where he could cook for fun and he wasn't so socially awkward because he never knew which key past elements he might trigger with his words of he wasn't aware of his consumer's past.

He thought of all this as he cooked, his escape of reality, his safe haven. Cooking was his freedom. It belonged to him. "Hey, Thread, don't burn the damn thing." I felt the impatient words of Rafe echoes from my side, my movements mechanical as I scooped, plopped and hollered, 'Next!'

Danny on his other side seemed to be struggling to talk to a woman in her mid thirties looking awfully frail as she made wild hand motion in an attempt to communicate with him. She didn't seem to be able to speak English, Thread sniggered at his friends misfortune. Thread nudged Rafe and cocked his head in the direction of Danny. He heard Rafe'd quiet chuckles before he turned back to face his work.

Thread wondered what would happen if his two long term friends were chosen for the games. Thread felt selfish to say he wouldn't volunteer. Just for the sole reason he thought that they had a better chance at survival than he did. He felt awfully guilty for admitting it though, even if it was the truth. But in Thread's world, the truth hurt and everyone just woke up and dealt with it every single day on repeat until they were finally released. Thread longed for the day he too was finally released, but also guilty at having to leave Rafe, Danny and the hundreds of refugees he served. Thread didn't know it, but maybe this day was closer than he thought.

* * *

 **Wooh, another down, reaping should be out soon.**


	29. Reaping, II

**District 5**

 **Tribute: Christian Powers**

 **Age: 14**

 **Gender: Male**

Christian stood in line, ready for his finger to be pricked. Three more children to go. Biting his lip in anxiety Christian watched as another boy finger was pierced, a small whimper emerging from the boy, and then Christian was one step closer to doomsday. He'd always had an easy life, he'd always wished for something new or exciting to happen. But this wasn't what he'd had in mind. He knew he'd been so selfish, so utterly selfish. Thinking of no one but himself when he'd made that wish, so stupidly selfish. He was partly disgusted, but he knew he couldn't hate himself fully, he was just too selfish. Wishing for a different life, how utterly unthinkable. He'd had it made the second he was born. He passed children every single day, starving and here he was coming home to a five course meal and _complaining._

He remembered seeing his mother standing there, her voice wavering and her throat constricting, tears ready to fall. And Christian knew he'd caused that. It'd been him. Stupid him.

His brother was absolute horrified too. If Christian were to be picked then his brother, being too old, could do absolutely nothing about it. Nothing, and if it was anything his brother hated, it was sitting around while his loved ones were hurt right in front Of him. Which would be true if Chritsian were picked, considering he would be forced to watch Christian ever single day until he either won, or died. Christian preferred to think it would be the latter.

If he were in his brother's position, he wasn't sure how'd he feel. If he'd feel anything at all. Who's to say if he'd grown up the eldest he wouldn't be so messed up that he was incapable of feeling anything. Christian had never been superstitious, never putting his faith into something he couldn't understand or the unknown. That just wasn't him. But he knew the closest he'd ever get to any of that, was the sense of belonging he had in his family. He couldn't ever picture himself as the eldest, not ever. He was Christian Powers, second born to Mayor Powers, and that was all he would ever be.

Before he knew it both boys prior to him in line were gone, he was now at the front. "Stick out your hand, kid." The peacekeeper was unrecognizable behind his black mask. Christian did as he was told, his endless chanting of _Easy Life_ seemed almost laughable now. Christian didn't care how hard or easy of a childhood you'd had, everyone was in this specific mess together. Christina didn't have an advantage being the mayor's son, not at all. In fact, he thought his mother had to have been feeling the worst. She couldn't protect her own child, it would have pained him to have done what she did now. Gone up there and spoke of the rules, tried to out a cheerful edge into her voice, failed obviously, knowing that her child could be dead in a few weeks time because of it.

The needle against his skin was a short sensation, Christian, between all his tinkering and being picked on at school, was used to pains much worst to this. It stung gently, as if the pain were a quiet buzzing noise in the back of his mind, fading as he walked away from the table. He'd wiped practically all of the blood off and onto the paper, which would be later used to identify him, but still a little remained. He quickly wiped it off onto his pants. Gorgeous dress pants he only ever wore for special occasions, apparently this qualified. He felt slightly guilty but the feeling soon passed. He went and joined his fellow Peers. He quickly scanned the crowd for Luke, but of course he wouldn't find him. Of course.

Christian had always been small for his age, he felt like he was being crushed between the boys. Some already hitting heir growth spurts and others just as small as him. Christian winced when an elbow nearly smacked him in the face. Christian had nearly managed to dodge it before another one came from his right. Apparently the boy in front of him was trying to murder the little red-head. Christian sighed before quickly displacing himself. Being small did have some perks. One of those being able to sneak in and through crowds almost completely unnoticed and easily. Which in most situations was good, but in some, resulted in him being pushed around an awful lot.

Christian wasn't really sure what to make of these games. Yes, they were an obvious ploy to show power and strength, but other than that, they were slightly smart. They had the perfect amount of everything necessary to form something competent to show to the public. To persuade the public. Christian could se this, sure a less brutal way would have of course been preferred, Christian would not promote these games. Never in his lifetime, but he would admit that they were smart.

Christina stood tall as he attempted to try and and not get pushed around. But if he were any good at that, then maybe he wouldn't have had to run from that boy throwing punches around like a madman earlier. It Didn't even matter anymore. Christian just wanted it to end. He was fourteen, he wasn't a fighter. He wasn't anything, he was the mayor's little scrawny son. He wasn't going to inspire people not to rebel, he was going to inspire people to laugh and pick on Luke even more than they already did. Because by that time, Christian'd be dead and Luke'd be all alone with absolutely no one to help him. No one other than Christian had ever even gone near him with any sort of positive intention in mind.

And this scared Christian, because the last thing he wanted was Luke getting hurt because he wasn't talented, strong, charismatic or social enough to win the games. The ridiculous ploy for power and a show of dominance. He hadn't deserved any of this, he'd been a Loyalist. On their side, punishing him was like punishing themselves. And Christian soon learned to hate them for it, absolutely despise them. But he couldn't voice this opinion. Oh no, because he was the mayor's son. He had a _reputations_ to uphold. He also didn't particularly want to be murderred, in any shape or form.

Christian turned towards the stage as he watched his mother appear, he still hadn't found Luke. She stood calm and collected, by Christian could see the worry in her eyes. The fear of losing a child burned deep and true. Christian flinched internally. "Welcome, District 5, to the first annual Hunger games reapings!" She plastered on a fake smile and then proceeded to clap. Christian joined in soon after, he noticed others gradually followed.

"Would you all please direct your attention to the screen?" She pointed a finger at a screen, something giant, even more gargantuan than what he and his family owned themselves. "District in Chaos. War raging. This is what we live in now, something destroyed and..." The video continued in, but Christian doubted anyone was really pays attention to it. Everyone had way too much on their mind for that. If they did somehow manage to find space to concentrate on the video, then they'd be genius or incapable of fear. Christian was sure of it.

The video comes to a close only seconds later, or what feel like seconds to Christina. He's to busy freaking out to notice much. It isn't like in the books, where every moment leading unto your death is in slow motion. No, to him it was all going extremely fast paced. So strangely fast-paced that Christina often lost track of what was going on at hand. He couldn't concentrate on anything and his hands itched for something to tinker with, if only to reduce the small bulb long anxiety slowly rising in his chest.

Then someone else comes on. He's tall with a ridiculous flaming red hairdo, with big, bright and long nails. His face is a dark mocha colour with red and gold around his eyes, it makes him look like fire and remind him strangely of his very own flaming red hair. Subconsciously, he reaches up to touch it.

"Welcome, children, to the first annual Hunger Games..." He says the same thing as his mother, practically. Christian doesn't hear a word he says. "Carlos Gastric, Capitol escort for District 5..." He hears bits and pieces of conversion only, his fear seeming to multiply in his chest and suddenly he has an awful feeling in his chest. A feeling that he knows is just himself imagining the worst but it feels true. Christian hopes, really hopes that it isn't. This feeling, he hopes, is nothing more than anxiety and fear taking a physical embodiment in the shape of this _feeling_.

Christian vaguely sees him walk over to the bowl filled with names. The girls he thinks, he remembers Carlos mentioning the girls. Yes, definitely the girls. He watches his long nails scarce at the bottom of the bowl and suddenly his fist constricts and the Capitol man pulls out a single strip of paper. He walks back over to where the microphone sat, and Christian waits, but time seems to speed up and he faintly sphears a name being called. "Diana Riverton."

He sees a tall girl, with mocha skin, walk slowly up to the stage she looks on the verge of tears and suddenly Christian feels almost no emotion besides fear and anxiety. The man, Carlos asks a few questions and he sees her nod and he sees her lips moving slowly.

Feelings bubble up In his chest. He's fearing he worst and he can't stop, can't stop, can't stop. He just keeps feeling it, and it keep going over and over and over again. And then Christian hates it, he hears someone say something and sees a blur of red walk across the stage and he knows, somehow he knows that it's going to be him. Him who's picked, and he doesn't know how and his brain is trying to figure out why he's thinking what he is. Christian hated the unknown and what most referred to as fate. He didn't understand the concept of destiny, so why was he so sure. He looks around and nobody else seems as sure as he is and then he faces the red dressed man. Who of course, of course, hasn't even picked a name yet.

Finally he sees the bony fingers pick something up and it's a slip of paper. He wants to scream out that he knows it's going to be him. Because somehow he knows and he can't explain it and it's driving him crazy.

"Christian Powers." Then his world tips, he hears someone scream and he's sure that it's his mother. His face is drained of emotion but on the inside he's freaking out, but not really because he knew it'd be him. Somehow he knew. He's walking and he notices a path has cleared for him. He doesn't care. He's walking and he can hear them looking at him thinking, mayor's son, mayor's son, but suddenly he doesn't care. He wants to find Luke, but doesn't know where he is.

He's suddenly on the stage and he stares at the crowd. ("Mayor's son, huh?" He nods.) He sees the girl next to him, analyzing him slowly. Christian just stares ahead, not wanting to glance back and potentially see the face of his mother. He hears someone telling him to shake hands and he does. He doesn't feel anything when they raise their fist in the air and the escort screams.

"District 5, your tributes!" Nothing but blank emotions.

* * *

 **District 6**

 **Tribute: Aston Swifte**

 **Age: 18**

 **Gender: Male**

Aston was in a frantic, he needed to find Lexi. He's searching everywhere, every single face of every single person in the District, because he needs to find her. He needs to say something, he needs to apologize, he needs closure, he just needs something. Maybe it's him being selfish, he had walked away, but he wanted to see her. He needs her to survive, and he can't do anything properly without thinking of her, without trying to come up with a decent apology for her. He had no one besides Lexi, absolutely no one. He was friends less and the sight of his own mother made him uncomfortable. So he couldn't count on family either.

He needed someone in his life, anyone and for him that person was Lexi. She had always been there, always. Aston needed to see her. He was so desperate he wanted to call out and scream for her. That he regretted it. He wished he could go back in time and take back everything he'd said. He wished he could go back in time and Hug her when she'd cried, in fact he wished he'd never made her cry to begin with.

Aston was strong and sarcastic, but he needed someone sweet and caring to balance him out, and right now he was severely lacking it. He wished he'd gone home that night and hugged his mom. Because maybe Lexi's words had inspired him to do so, but he didn't. He couldn't. He'd walked in planning on doing it, but instead he'd walked right past her room, hadn't even bothered washing up, just laid in bed until his drowsiness took over and was finally able to sleep. Ripped and bloodied grey sweater Somehwere In a shoebox at the back of his closet. He promised not to think about it. He hoped he never though about it ever again.

Because that's exactly what Aston was best at, right? Avoiding the problem until it went away. That's what he did with his mother wasn't it? After the burns that never made him never want to look at her face again. He never spoke to her anymore, not unless he had to. He never told her anything of what was going on, he didn't even think she properly knew who Lexi was. Despite her coming over almost every other weekend. His father's death was pushed away and hidden, under a sarcastic mask that he thought nobody would ever see through ( _she_ did though). He pushed it away and hid it so deep down that he started actually believing it himself. He started believing that the sarcastic jerk was him. He started to believe it. Everyone did, everyone but her.

But he didn't want to lose Lexi, she was al that he had and he was all that she had. Or, that's how it's always been. What he chose to believe anyways. But it would be so selfish to seek her out again. He'd made her cry then walked away, tempted her with a kiss only to pull back. Almost taken off his mask before crudely glueing it back on. And she knew, boy did she know. Aston could still feel the blood in his mouth as he'd just barely brushed his lips over hers.

He didn't even realize he was doing it, but he knew his head was moving back and forth trying to catch of glimpse of brown hair. Kids were sending him some looks, but he didn't care. Her brown hair, he was looking for her brown hair. Because he knew what it looked like, he knew it by heart and he knew that if he could just see it, he'd know it was her. Just a bit of brown hair poking out of the crowd and he'd have had her pinpointed.

He could hear the mayor taking, but he kept searching. He wouldn't stop until he found her. The voice of their mayor was deep and rough, he was a young man in his twenties and Aston still wasn't sure whether he loved or hated him.

"Welcome all, now may I please direct your attention to our Capitol escort." Aston wasn't sure, but out of the corner of his eye, he though he saw the mayor gesture to a woman in a short, bubble-like outfit. With neon green hair and pink skin. Must be his imagination, yep, that was it. He was still searching, he wished he wasn't in the eighteen year old section. Everyone here was so damn tall, he couldn't see a thing.

"Hello, everyone. My name is Prusilla Pasonova, I'll be your Capitol escort. Now, may you please focus your attention to the screen." Aston completely ignored her, not caring in the slightest what the pink-skinned bimbo had to say about anything. Because anyone who thought _that_ was a good idea didn't deserve to be listened to, ever. (Aston wasn't even sure if he was being sarcastic or not)

A crude video started playing, about war and death, Aston cringed and pretended not to have heard anything.

He bet Lexi had seen him, he was very easy to pinpoint in a crowd. Platinum blonde hair definitely stood out amongst dirty blondes, brunette and black haired children alike. She probably didn't even spare him two seconds,he bet her eyes had found him then left just as suddenly. Just like that, because why would she ever want Aston when she deserved so, so much better?

The video keeps playing and Aston keeps looking, he wishes she was easier to find. He wished she'd been the one gifted with the platinum head and not him, it'd make situations like these so much easier.

Thevideo ends and he sees someone walking over to the escort and whisper something in their ear. The escort nods and he sees a big smile plastered onto her face. Prusilla, he remembers, that was her name. "I'll just start with the ladies, then." He sees her chuckle, it seems forced but he doesn't comment, as she makes her way to the other side of the wooden stage. He, quite honestly, doesn't care who gets picked, as long as it isn't Lexi. Please, don't pick Lexi.

He sees her elegant hands, gracefully move around the bowl, contemplating and building suspense. He sees her fingers pinch a white strip of paper and she pulls it out. Please not Lexi. She licks her lips once and then her mouth starts to open, forming the shape of an 'O', as she's about to speak. Please not Lexi. He doesn't even realize he isn't looking for her any longer, because he's too transfixed to know if it's Lexi, because he _goddamn_ hopes it isn't.

"Iris Elmswood." He feels himself let out a sigh in relief, before quickly jolting up in shock. He knows that name, she's the girl who, rumour has it, had been rigged to be pulled. Who's _name_ had been rigged to be pulled. Maybe rumours weren't always so made up. She owned the local sweet shop, her parents were murderred and now she was wanted dead by the Capitol. Everyone in the District knew it.

He sees the ball of red-hair fly up towards the stage. She knew it too, and he can tell that she doesn't look surprised, but still on the verge of tears. Iris Elmswood Had been the only topic of gossip anyone's been saying. She's fourteen and Aston couldn't imagine a worse fate.

"Our fine gents is next on the list, yes?" He feels eyes on him, just for a second, and he turns. He sees her, his blue eyes focusing on the single most important thing in the world to him. Lexi, staring right at him. And all Astoncanthink is, I'm sorry. The second she sees him turn she looks away. And suddenly Aston freaks because he can't lose her, he won't lose her. After everything, she's all he has left. He won't just push her to the back of his mind like he does with everything else, because Lexi is not everything else.

He starts ducking and climbing over everyone to get to the female section, he doesn't care if people are blocking him or the fact that evertime he bumps into someone hey hiss something he'd rather not repeat. All Aston can think is Lexi. Lexi. Lexi. Lexi. Lexi.

He vaguely hears the eScort saying something. Something, but he knows it isn't the name. He's almost to the girls section and he feels more and more people getting pissed off, because he's bashing into more and more people and he's running into more and more people. He's pushing them now too, because he can't lose her. His cursing at someone for flipping him off and Aston does the same back. He starts screaming, "Lexi! Lexi!" Suddenly all eyes are on him, but he doesn't care. He's in the girls section and if he reaches far enough, he can almost touch her. The children have made a sort of path for him, and he's all anyone is looking at. He sees Lexi's eyes widening in horror and she's too stunned to move. Then he hears it.

"Aston Swifte." It's the escort, she's holding a slip of paper. Suddenly he sees Lexi'sface take the form of something terrified beyond belief. She reapeats it again. "Aston Swifte." He can sees the boys telling the peacekeepers that it's him, the one's who were already on their way to stop him because of his disturbance in the crowd. They would've had to kill him, but now they can't. Because now he's a tribute. He doesn't care though, because he knows now that this is the last chance he'll ever get to see Lexi again.

"Lexi! I'm sorry! Lexi!" The peacekeepers are on him now, they strap his arms behind his back and start dragging him towards the stage. The boys clear a path for him. The girls do too, he'd been in the girls section, he'd been that close. He's on the stage now. "Lexi!" He screams, "Lexi, I'm sorry!" Suddenly he feels something slam into him, it's the peacekeepers fist he realizes. And the situation he's in is something he's now all too familiar with. He's being hurt and bruised, they can't kill him, but maybe this is worse. He's on the ground now, and everyone is watching people at home, children in the other District, Capitol citizens. They're all watching and it hurts. It really hurts.

He feels blood on his face and he feels it in his mouth. It's dripping down and his shirt is soaked. But the punches and kicks just keep coming. He's dizzy and tired and he makes a strangled like sound. "Le-exi-i." His face hurts and he can feels bruises forming on his chest and stomach. His legs feel numb and he doesn't think he can stand.

He's jerked to his feet and forced to shake hands. He's still hurting and he needs the girl to help keep him steady. He sees the girl doesn't seem to care, she seems devoid of emotion, minus the one single tear dripping slowly down her face. They look horrific, they should, him bloodied and bruised, her calm as the morning waters. They must look horrifying, he would be scared. And he wondered what Lexi thought. They shake hands and his mind is still on Lexi. And he knows, he knows right then and there that he has to win. He needs to come back home to Lexi, and he needs to apologize to her fully.

"Aston Swifte, Iris Elmswood, District 6, your Tributes!" And all Aston can think is, Lexi. Lexi. Lexi. Lexi. I'm coming home for you, Lexi.

* * *

 **District 7**

 **Tribute: Oakley Axemooree**

 **Age: 16**

 **Gender: Male**

Oakley was a rebel, always had been. He just didn't take action on it, not ever did he do so. But he really wishes he had, because maybe if he had, these games wouldn't be happening right now. These games wouldn't be killing innocent children right now. He wants to do something but knows it'll be pointless and the waste of a life, his life, because he's Oakley, without him how would people ever solve anything? Without Oakley how would I know if my best friend hates me or not? If my crush really means what he says when he tells me I'm cute? Without Oakley who'll help me get good grades?

That was all anyone ever seems to need him for. Not, 'Hey, Oakley, you have a nice personality-or whatever crap- wanna hang out with us?' Something along those lines. And it was that, some real friends, that Oakley wanted so badly he'd do anything for it. Just some real friends. Besides Birch, who was almost never had time for him because she was training to be a doctor. Which meant his only friend spent almost all her time studying, being so stressed from studying she turns her sass-meters up to a hundred or was in the Capitol studying abroad. She was still awesome, and she was still the best friend he could ever ask for. But he just wished someone, anyone, had time for him. Time that they genuinely wanted to spend with him.

He's gazing at his sister, Beecher, arguing with the person in front of her. Every single last one of them now that he looked at it, she was arguing with everyone. Which was strange, considering she was generally shy and introverted. Oakley shrugged, if it was important he'd obviously have complaints about it later on tonight. They're both in line together, one after the other. And they're all arguing. Except for Oakley, he's just standing there. Because of course, when he's not Helping you, nobody ever really considers him. They don't really stop and think, 'Hey, maybe we should invite Oakley?'. Oakley was like one of those Gods, you were too scared to approach them, so you just went around pretending that they didn't exist. Something like that, history was so vague nowadays that he didn't even understand half of it.

The only time his siblings had spoke to him in the last twenty-four hours was to ask him if they agreed with him or not. Oh yeah, and if Oakley thought they were selfish (He said no, obviously. If he said yes, that'd just cause more problems than it was worth). He wished they'd just acknowledge his efforts or at least acknowledge him other than some perfect golden boy of the District. He was human just like them, he had flaws but none of them could ever see that even if it was right in front of their face. He tried to tell them when he was younger, but they never listened. He ended up just giving up, humans fall to pattern and they would never believe him anyways. (He was Oakley, he wasn't allowed to have flaws. How dare you.)

He looked at Beecher, his fourteen year old sister with the flaming red hair. Normally when people looked at them, they'd ask if they were related. Very hesitantly and unsure, because, ignoring he hair, Oakley and Beecher shared so many traits it was unbelievable. Same strong jawline, same eye shape, nose shape, she had sharper cheekbones though. She hadn't even glancied back at him once and Oakley was starting to get really annoyed. Would it kill someone to just glance at him, just one glance. To check on him, to see of he's as Okay as he says he is. Like he does for everybody else.

He thinks his District is so stupidly selfish he doesn't even understand it. How hard was it to say thank you? To take a half-second glance over one shoulder? It was so easy, but where did anyone ever fit Okaley into their tight schedules. Oakley who took care of them, who talked to them when no one else would, who tutored them for free because no one else would. He wasn't just some stranger on the street, he was the golden boy of District 7. But he was still a boy. A mere child, he wasn't immune to words himself. He was just nice enough not to load them onto everyone else. Depression is taking on others problems just to conceal your own.

And Okaley took on everyones problems, and of course every time he tried talking about his own, they shut him up and continued talking about themselves. It was unbelievable. Or they'd say the whole, 'you're Oakley, you don't have problems.' He hated when people said that.

Oakley watched as his sister's finger was pricked and then forcefully stamped onto the paper. He watched her wince slightly and he watched her bring the bleeding finger to her lips to stop the blood. Her red hair was blowing across her face even though the winds weren't even that strong. He didn't smile though, well he did, if you could count what he does as a 'smile'. It was hard, forced and foggy, made only for the reason of, when she saw him watching her she'd stuck out her tongue. He was responding her common gesture with one of his own, no matter how Unconvincing it looked.

"Mr. Axemoore, finger." It wasn't a question, it was a demand. Oakley complied obediently, what else was he suppose to do? It only hurt for a second and then it was gone. He didn't smile. They pressed his finger to the page, he watched the blood leave his finger and soak their red mark on the page. "That way, kid." The peacekeeper pointed him to a section of children to the left, they told him his sister was in the fourteen year section. One closer to the right, then sent him on his way. He walked mechanically towards the sixteen year old section. Not sparing one glance behind him.

He stood among the other children. He felt them all take a slight step away from him, and he realized, just then, that he really was some untouchable God to all of them. He was like a celebrity, you could look at it from a distance, but never get too close. And it just then, surrounded by hundreds, maybe thousand of children had Oakley felt most alone. And he bit his lip so hard trying not to cry he tasted blood. Red, metallic, stinging blood. And the cut barely even registers in his mind, because he's so broken he can't even feel anything. He only feels broken, so broken that he just wants to curl up and vanish, but he can't do that. He can never do that. Why? Because he's Oakley.

He hears someone tapping a microphone, it's sound resonating throughout the building. He turns to se a lady dressed in purple start speaking. "Hello, I am Lovinska Von Heckilebeurg. I will be your Capitol escort." The mayor behind her started clapping, everyone had to join in. Oakley did so robotically, he didn't even realize he was clapping until the sound reached his ears. He almost jumped in surprise, he was so past the gone it wasn't even funny. "May you all now, direct your attention to the screen."

Evryone does, and a video starts playing before immediately fizzing out. The screen goes blank, and everyone is left in awakward silence. The purple lady starts to speak up nervously, "Um, let's get straight to the reaping, yes?" Without siting for an answer, she struts past everyone and over to the bowl. She smiles and Oakley can regonize it, it's the same one he wears every single day like a mask.

Her hand dives into the bowl and Oakley just watches. She pulls out a slip. Straightens herself, smiles once more towards a camera before starting to read. Her smiles are so forced, Oakley thinks. And he wishes he knew just how these escorts were chosen.

"Veronica Delaney." He hears someone inhale sharply, but that's it. Over in the female twelve year old section, he sees movement. Little children of twelve years are clearing the way, they're pinpointing one person out of the crowd. They are sending a child to her death. Oakley reconized the name. It's the little girl he'd ran into just a few days prior, a cake comes to mind, but Oakley isn't sure. Everything he does feels like he's doing it out of his body, like an invisible ghost is what's carrying out all his actions. They're so mechanical and forced, it's like watching himself doing them, he wonders if she could tell.

He watches her shakily making her way up to the stage, she looks like she's crying. He thinks she is. She stumbles on the last step and the escort catches her and helps her up. "How're you, sweetie?" He hears her make a muffled sob, "M-mh, fi-in-ne." He hears her sniffle quietly. The escort is rubbing circles on Veronica's back, trying to calm her down. Then she starightens out, not before he seEs Veronica's dad say something to Veronica herself, she just nods.

"Onto the men." She reapeats the same thing she'd done for the girls. He watches her. "Oakley Axemoore." There it is, Oakley freezes. And he feels the absolute silence ring out, louder than any sort of murmurs or screams could have been. Without waiting for a path, Oakley feels his legs start to move. Mechanically, obediently, he isn't in control, he never is. He doesn't want to, his subconscious is telling him no, but his body doesn't care. It just keeps going, people clear for him as he walks, not the other way around. He's broken, and he doesn't show it. He tries to look sad, but it comes out looking more like a sort of awkward smile. A malicious, crazy, insane type of smile. He hates it.

He's on the stage, he barely remembers going up the steps but it doesn't matter, he did, and that's all that does. "Well, aren't you handsome." Oakley tries for a smile, but if he's learned anything broken people reconized other brokens as well. The woman gives him a pitying look. He drops the smile. Which was too stretched and too breaking.

She leans in towards him, that, if you weren't Oakley, you most likely wouldn't have even seen her, she whispered one thing. "Car two." She doesn't explain it, he has no idea what she means. So He just nods. He looks over a Veronica who seems to have calmed down slightly, but is still sniffling quietly to herself. Oakley tries to give her a sympathetic smile, but his game's off today. If the strange look Veroncia gave him is anything to go by.

The escort straightens out, looking like she wants to say anything more than the words that come out of her mouth next. "Happy Hunger games. District 7, your tributes."

* * *

 **District 8**

 **Tribute: Rosemary Finch**

 **Age: 15**

 **Gender: Female**

Rosemary looked over her shoulder, trying to find Petra and Cora in the crowd. She couldn't. It was stupid, but ever since t _he incident,_ as Rosemary liked to call it, she'd been paranoid that the second she turned away, her baby sisters would be dead. It was idiotic, she knew, but she couldn't help it. She'd watched her sister be murdered in front of her, the same day she lost her parents. She wasn't sure where they were, she knew they hadn't been killed. She would've been told. It hurt her more knowing that they'd chosen to leave, instead of being forced.

So, as far as Petra and Cora knew, her parents and sister had gone away for a vacation. To the Capitol, something about her sister's education, she wasn't even sure at this point. They didn't ask questions, but she was sure that they didn't believe her. Maybe it was the pain on her face, maybe it was the way her smile seemed strained. How her eyes seemEd to glisten with madness and her laugh always seemEd too hoarse, her posture too hostile.

Her stupid sister. Of course she'd have to have been a rebel. She'd killed herself. They were neutral, they knew being neutral was the safest option. Why go against that. They were living the life, they were safe, finally. Why couldn't she have been happy with that. Why? Rosemary didn't dare speak her sister's name, she couldn't. Her parents too, what were they thinking. They'd been safe. Who cares if they wanted to fight for their opinions, those opinions had tore her family, _Rosemary's_ family apart. All because they wanted to fight for their thoughts, their beliefs. They'd been safe, they'd been safe. Their family'd been safe. And they tore it apart. They broke Petra and Cora's heart. They made them cry, scream- and maybe that'd been her. Maybe that'd been her

She'd started taking them to refugee camps, it was pitiful. But at least the young boy working there, Thread she thinks, was nice. The twins liked him. And so Rosemary kept working, as always, trying, hoping, that she'd be able to keep this charade up long enough for her to be able to afford her own food. She wasn't even a proper rebel. She was just someone who wanted to see the Capitol burn.

She didn't have a problem with the way things were run, perhaps she did. What she hated was what the Capitol stood for. To her, at least. They stood for the murder of her sister, her perfect, beautiful sister. The Capitol stood for her parents abandoning her, leaving her. They stood for making the twins sad, making her cry. And she wanted to see them pay. Rosemary didn't care how many laws the Capitol had created were unfair, all she could think of when their name was brought up was her family. And what the Capitol had done to them.

Maybe she was also angry at her parents. They left her and the twins, they left them. Rosemary didn't care how important it was, the reason as to why they left, all she cares about was that they'd left. Family came first, it had to. But they'd still left. She was taking all her anger directed to her parents and threw it to the Capitol. She didn't care though. Because she still hated both. She didn't care if she were hating her own blood, turning her back on her own blood, her parents had done the same hadn't they?

Poor Petra and Cora, she thought, they deserve better. Rosemary clenched her fist, hard. She felt her nails biting into her skin, but she didn't care. Because these Hunger Games, were just bringing up memories she'd rather forget. Permanently. These games were the living embodiment of why she hated the Capitol. Why she wanted to see the, cry and hurt as she had. Of her sister and parents. They brought back memories of her sister and parents.

Rosemary felt liquid in her hands and she looked down and un-clenched her fists. Nail marks spitting out small Crimson fluids. She watched as her hands started to shake. What was happening to her? When had she gotten so... aggressive. She quickly hid her hands, as if anyone had paid attention to her. They all had their own problems. Maybe her paranoia extended to other things besides just Petra and Cora.

She felt the sting of a cut in her hands, but she didn't dare look. She told herself it was because someone might see. But she knew the real reason. She didn't want to face what she'd done to herself. She didn't want to have to look at it and face it. That she'd hurt herself and that she'd thought those things. That she hadn't even felt her nails biting into her flesh, not one little bit. Why hadn't she felt it? Did she hate her parents? The Capitol? And to an extent, her sister? No. That was just the anger taking, but Rosemary couldn't stop wanting to cry either.

She bit the inside of cheek, trying to focus on the strange sense of pain instead her now stinging eyes. She would not cry in front of all these people. She would not cry because of the Capitol, they weren't worth it. Her sister, her parents, _they_ were worth it. (right?)

Rosemary glanced upwards to the sky, so clear, so blue. It seemed mocking as to how it seemed so perfect when Rosemary was quite aware it was anything but. Because her family was gone. Her family was dead. She looked at the girl beside her, she looked so strong, so sure. It intimidated her. How could she be so put together? So ready to face this? Rosemary looked at her own quivering and bleeding hands, messed up hair and was suddenly very aware of the bags below her eye. How could the girl next to her look so calm and ready?

The next thing her eyes found was the stage, and the strange man upon it. He was skinny, unnaturally so. His long bony fingers were the mocha tone of his skin. His spiked blue hair looking out of place in the sea of greys and Browns. His makeup was a light green, his suit was a dark midnight blue. Rosemary simply stared. Capitol, the thought was gone in a millisecond. And before she knew it, her nails were digging into her skin once more. Startled, Rosemary looked down, nausea hit her lightly. She'd done it again.

She tried not to think too hard of what it might mean. Or still, that strange sense of pain, it had to be nothing. (right?)

Suddenly the man got up, Rosemary followed him with her eyes. Still trying not to think of her palms. He tapped the microphone once, trying to get everyone's attention . For the most part, it worked. "Hello, I am Jordan Yukin. The Capitol assigned escort for District 8." He smiles, scattered claps. "Now, if you'd be so kind, as to direct your attention to the screen." He pints to a large white, suddenly a projection is shined onto it. A projection that makes Rosemary look down because of all the memories it causes.

She can't see what the video's showing but she can hear it. And suddenly her mind is filled with so many images, her head feels like exploding. She feels herself wobble and she can't take it. She cannot take it. She doubles over, and she hears a girl cry out. But Rosemary barely hears it, like it's in a different reality than her own. Her own, filled with shots and flashes of death, her sister's death. There it is, and Rosemary now feels herself crying out. And suddenly the nightmares that've plagued her for weeks, every single last one of them, is there. Flashing before her eyes. And she can't take it.

She feels her weight being lifted and snaked. She sees white, peacekeeper. And that only makes the pain ten times worse. She hears someone screaming about stopping the video. But her mind is still filled with nightmares. Absolute nightmares. "Stop it, girl!" She hears a peacekeeper scream. She tries, she tries, she feels her body go slack and suddenly her vision clears. She can see clearly again. The peacekeeper is still there. The video's stopped, everyone's eyes are on her. Even Jordan's. "You okay now, girl?" She nods, and the peacekeeper walks back over to the stage. She barely even notices how her fist clench again. The sea of children parting for him.

She hears the escort shuffle his feet before speaking. "How about we move straight to the reapings? Ladies first." She watches him walk, but it's as if it's sped up. His hand's in the bowl and she watches as he grips a slip of white. He clears his throat before reading the name. "Rosemary Finch." It's her name. Her heart stops and then she's moving. She doesn't want to, but her body has a mind of it's own. She wants it to stop, but it doesn't.

She's on the stage now. The pacing of her mind seems sped up and she suddenly feels extremely nauseous. "Well, if it isn't the one who disturbed our ceremony. You feeling better now?" Rosemary doesn't have a proper response so she just nods. He gives her a small smile. "Onto our fine gents now, hmmm?" He walks to the ther side of the stage and Rosemary can only stand there. Stand there searching for the twins. And then she starts to cry.

She sees the escort stop in his tracks, as she lets out her first soft whimper. She cries and immediately her mind goes to that stupid perfect girl who'd stood next to her. Looking perfect of course. And she just cries harder and she's willing herself to stop, telling herself to stop, but of course her body doesn't listen. Bent up tears are spilling out freely now and Rosemary hide her face in her sleeve. She waves off the now approaching escort, who immediately starts his trek back towards the jar.

One last concerned glance over his shoulder at Rosemary. He pulls out a name. "Thread Flynn."

It's only when the boy steps onto the stage does Rosemary recognize him. He's blurry around the edges from her tears, but she knows it's him. Which makes her want to cry harder, because if she doesn't want the twins to lose everything, she's going to have to kill the boy who's kept her alive for the past few days. And she wants to die, right then and there. But she knows that she can't because, whithout her, she'll be the one ripping apart _their_ family. The twins family, just as her parents and sister had done to her.

"Shake hands." She reaches out, she sees Thread do the same. He's looking pale and nervous. As they shake, slowly and calmly. Both trying to ignore the dishevelled look of the other. Both not wanting to think of what their names being called means for one another. She turns to face the roaring of the crowd. She feels nauseaous again, but she tries to imagine the perfect posture and aura of that girl. The one she'd been next to. She tries to recreate that image. She tries.

"Distirct 8, your tributes."

* * *

 **Dang, I just realized how Male heavy this chapter was and he female heavy the previous chapter was. By the way, I put up this poll where you can vote for your favourite tribute,** **so there's that. You can vote for any tribute except your own.**


	30. Reactions, III

**District 9**

 _Leilani Tareyn (17) and Hollis Pobarr (17)_

Leilani looked around cautiously. Half expecting someone to reach out and jump her. Because that was what it was like when they announced the fact that they were making something called the Hunger games. When they explained the idea behind the Hunger games, She'd wanted to puke. It didn't help that Lili had.

Right there, in front of the whole District, Leilani's best friend had puked all over the ground. She remembered the ceremony coming to a sort of stop and then all eyes had turned to her. She remembered Lili lazily trying to wipe off the puke but knew it was particularly hopeless. Considering the fact that she wasn't wearing a long sleeved shirt and therefore has nothing for the... Vomit, to erm, soak up.

Leilani remembered it being so sudden that she'd barely react before Lili had doubled over and started puking. Horrible retching sounds coming directly from her mouth. Her reasoning afterwards had been that she'd been so disgusted, although fear was also written all over her face, and been poorly concealed. Leilani'd hastily tried grabbing her best friend's hair to try and keep it out of the projectile vomit, she'd succeeded, for the most part. Leilani thought the games were sick, yes, but genius. So very, very genius.

She partially wanted to applaud the man responsible. She wanted to ask how was it he'd come up with such an idea, such a genius idea. Because what better way to inspire fear and punishment than making their own kin do it? They weren't the ones murderring Panem's children. Panem's own kind were doing so. If Leilani was reaped and she killed, she murderred, she would be to blame. Not the Capitol, not the other tributes, only herself. Herself for raising the weapon and bringing it back down. It would have been her arm that'd ended another life. Not the Capitol's.

Lili had ranted on and on about how these games were inhuman and wrong. How Lili hated these games so. That maybe they should have participated more in the war to avoid this situation. Maybe if they'd faught, this wouldn't be happening. That if she was reaped and made into one of their tributes, it would be the Capitol's fault for even creating the Games in the first place. If she murderred it was the Capitol's fault.

Leilani disagreed with that. The Capitol wasn't the one who would bring down the knife that pierced another's heart. They always had choices, no matter how impossible or forced you feel, how pressured into a choice you feel you are, you still have one. A choice. Even if it got you killed, it was your choice to not murder. Leilani didn't give a Damn if it was self-defence. It was still murder. Leilani wasn't sure why this irrational need to sort of defend the Capitol was so suddenly arising, but she didn't like it. Because geniuses were most almost always insane. The creator of these games no different. These were the works of madmen, Leilani was positive. She wasn't defending them, she would keep protesting, she was just... Twisted. Very very twisted.

She wasn't sure if she would be able to, murder that is. She could hurt, hurt someone so much that they begged for mercy. Hurt them so that they bled, they screamed and cried. She could torture them to insanity, but kill? She wasn't sure. She just desperately hoped she wouldn't have to. Taking another's life was a sin. Taking another's life would deprive their loved ones of everything they held dear. If she would lose Lili, Leilani wouldn't know what she'd do. Throw a fit, sink into depression, unleash an uncontrollable rage? All of the above most likely. Then she would mourn. Mourn until she had no days no more.

Leilani would contemplate this over and over, expecting something different to arise each time. She kept telling herself the same things, over and over, same order, same everything. Same result, too, obviously. A new point to be brought up or a loop hole in the fine print. She was wrong, she never did, but she hadn't really expected to either. Just her mind filtering her hope into her despair, in a futile attempt to keep her going.

She wondered if she would enjoy watching the games, they'd certainly be interesting to watch wouldn't they? They were a game of strategy and real world knowledge. Leilani didn't care how educated you were, if you'd never set foot outside a textbook, never fully stood up for yourself, then you were as good as dead weren't you? Leilani had real-world experience, that made her dangerous. She had a taste for blood and war. But never did she seem to have on for death. Which would confuse her, how hard could killing someone be? In her mind she was always capable, wasn't she? So why did the sinking feeling in her stomach, telling her that if faced with it, she wouldn't. Why in the world did she believe it?

Leilani knew her limits, she had to be aware of them. If not, he ever was she supposed to be anything greater than what she was now? Know your limits. She just knew that these games may either crush these limits into oblivion or pound them so hard into her mind that they were all she saw? Who's to say anyways she'd even get reaped? Leilani felt a small smile tug at her lips at the thought. Why though, she wasn't quite sure.

The way they dressed it up as a sort of beauty pageant made Leilani's smile, her strange irrational smile, grow. It was genius, she wouldn't deny anyone the honours of it being called so. But when did the lines between genius and mad become so blurred? She wasn't sure. Leilani was just certain that the Games didn't make a murderrer. It just brought out the hiding one within.

But if you never even had one to start with, well, you were pretty much screwed weren't you?

* * *

 **District 10**

 _Buck Chandler (13) and Haizea Lobo (18)_

Buck bit down onto his lip hard to stop the tears from coming. Trying to focus on the pain of spill of blood rather than the knowledge he'd just received. Because the last thing he needed was to be publicly humiliated in front of all these people. His eyes searched the crowd eagerly, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone he knew. Ralphie or Haizea most preferably. He needed some comfort. Sure him and Ralph hadn't been on the best of terms since their falling out, but he was sure he could manage. Especially if he saw Buck crying, or just screaming uncontrollably. But Ralph had stolen, he deserved every little bit of criticism from Buck as he'd gotten, right?

Buck wasn't even sure anymore. He'd never been the best with feelings, or friends, considering his lack there of. Haizea was always nice though, he almost considered going to the butcher's just to see her. She was like the mother figure he'd lost, well, maybe more of a really mature older sister. It didn't take a genius to understand that Haizea was a lot more mature than what her age would like you to believe. One look into her brown eyes and Buck had wanted to leave, because even though she was one of his best friends, there were definitely times when she scared him. Especially when she got that certain glint in her eyes, or her face took on a strange look. One Buck could never identify. It gave him a nasty feeling, but he wasn't even sure if that was right. Just that it... unnerved him. She was strange and had seen things, she'd definitely seen things. The first time he'd met her, she'd practically oozed hostility, he'd been scarred off for a while to say the least.

Buck knew that if he was chosen he'd die. Not sure why, but Buck, was not Victor's material. He was scrawny and small, much smaller than most boys his age. He was also completely incompetent when it came to knowing who to trust. Buck was sure he'd either trust no one and end up dying alone, or make the worse alliance in the history of alliances and be stabbed in the back, countless times no doubt either. He knew Ralphie would probably make it far, maybe not to Victor's alley, but he'd definitely make it farther than Buck would. And Haizea? he wasn't sure, at all.

Buck thought the games were so horrible, what kind of sicko had imagined them? He listened to their mayor listing off several other things to do with the games, but he soon realized they were just some precautions. Precautions? In a battle to the death? You had to be kidding him. It was just some things about not committing suicide, or they, they'd kill your family. What? Buck bit down onto his lip harder, drawing blood this time. His eyes watered in a familiar sense of sadness and he just bit down harder, probably not the smartest decision but Buck didn't care. he didn't want another reason for people to criticize him, or bully him for. He was already a practically friendless loser, scrawny and small, but now he'd be known as a cry baby too. He ducked his head, just in case tears did decide to fall, at least now they'd be covered.

These games were absolutely disgusting, he didn't understand how their mayor could read that and not be disgusted. Feel ashamed or wanting to cry. he was pretty sure they had two children, one boy and one girl. Buck wasn't sure if they were of reaping age, but if they weren't then she could still have the decency to think about how the others were feeling. How they might be absolutely disgusted or tearful, because they were all at risk. Them, her public, they were all at risk, they were all fearful of her power, the Capitol's power. Maybe that was why she didn't look so unnerved, because she, nor were her children, at risk. And now her very being inspired fear. District 10 hadn't been the most rebellious District, these games were what cut that cord entirely. At least, Buck assumed it had.

He meant, who would cheer for the Capitol after something like this? because the Capitol wasn't just punishing the rebels, they were punishing everyone. Neutrals, Loyalist, their own kind. Buck didn't understand any of it. How could anyone still be loyal to the Capitol after this? He didn't understand people. Why would a human being create this, why would someone just like Buck think this up and create it. Force it upon the population, abuse their power, and then love themselves afterwards? His head hurt from everything he'd just heard. To the games, to the dead silence surrounding him. The District was absolutely silent, no one dared to speak. The only sounds were muffled tears and those who'd been to lazy to cover it up. Human were so complicated some were monsters some were not. What had corrupted man so much that things like the Hunger Games were real?

He thought some more, maybe the mayor wasn't so bad. She had to be somewhat relieved didn't she? No one she loved was dying in the next week. She must've been so relived, so thankful, that she didn't have the energy to put on a sad front. Maybe the cheerfulness was front, actually. Buck couldn't even tell at this point. All Buck cared about was how disgusting and vile these games were, how he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he'd been the creator. Buck chose to ignore anything brilliant of these games. Instead of seeing a genius, he saw a monster. But really, what even was the difference?

* * *

 **District 11**

 _Sparrow Blackmore (18) and Thorn Willows (16)_

Sparrow closed her eyes. Her back still stinging slightly, her whip marks not fully healed. It'd been days, but without the help of an actual qualified Doctor, she was pretty much screwed. Sage had tried to help, but being blind and all that, she hadn't done much. Her back was badly bandaged, her cuts were also most likely infected by now. She felt like actual crap, to sum it up. She'd barely been able to move after that excruciating pain that that man had decided to grace her back.

When she was forced By the peacekeepers out of her own house and into the street when she was barely able to walk without pain etching through her entire body, she had almost lost it. When the actual announcement was made, Sparrow had almost passed out. She liked to think it was the combination of the pain as well as the absolute monstrous Idea that the games were. They were a sick monstrous things that made Sparrow uncomfortable.

Because that was what they did, they made her feel strange. She wanted to bash the Capitol's heads in for it, but a small part of her found herself praising the Capitol. Which made her want to hurt them even more. She'd been so insufferably angry, so extremely irritated. She'd hated it. Her mind had been consumed with anger, she'd been seeing red and white. Her head buzzing lowly, it'd been tHe only thing she could hear. Just the low buzzing of her own emotion taking over, blocking out everything. Sparrow couldn't think straight when angry. And that was what these games had made her feel. They made her feel so damn angry.

Whenever Sparrow got mad, well, she had some rather destructive habits. As soon as she'd gotten home, practically staggered back due to the sock and pain, she'd punched her wall. Friggin' hard. The scariest part was that despite the horrible stinging pain that'd shot up her arm, she'd barely even felt it compared to the burning monstrosity on her back.

She'd tried applying some sort of plant that someone had told her helped, that didn't really work when you couldn't see what you were doing and the only other person helping you was blind. Not that she didn't love Sage, who was Sparrow's entire life. Well, now she also had a bandaged wrist to go along with her back. Not to mention a new window in the entrance way of their home.

Sparrow couldn't imagine getting chosen. Not only would that mean crap for Sage, but how could she even imagine murderring someone? If she died, Sage would be as well as dead. No one in the right minds would take her in. Sure they may like Sage, but when it came down to it, they weren't going to risk the extra mouth to feed. Especially one that wouldn't be able to work, ever. People knew how to survive, and that wasn't taking in the practically homeless blind girl.

And the thought of killing someone, was so unfathomnable that Sparrow had actually clutched her head and laughed. Laughed at her own stupid misery and insanity. She wouldn't know anyone's stories. For al she knew, by killing that seemingly well off boy from District 8, she was actually just killing off another Sage. That thought scared her, scared her so much she'd laughed. Messed up, she knew.

None of it seemed real, if you could imagine. Just like some bad dream, it wouldn't seem real until she had to watch someone she knew, devellope into a murderrer. Someone she knew die, someone she knew become everything the Captiol had forced them to. The stupid (genius) Capitol. She felt the familiar buzz of anger simmer through her. But forced it down roughly.

Sparrow hated being out of context, she hated it. How was she supposed to know of the boy she was about to murderred was a sain or sinner? How was she supposed to know of that girl she was about to kill had a family depending on her survival. She didn't know anything. She wouldn't know anything! And that killed her. She would have to murder, and it would be the Capitol's fault. So she was the one holding the knife, they were the ones controlling and pulling her strings. Like some demonic puppet master. They were disgusting.

How could she cope, even if she won, with knowing that she'd potential doomed an innocent soul to death? That she'd forced a family into poverty? She had moral, she had a conscious and was strongly driven by it. How would she able to kill? How could she bring down that knife knowing that her conscious had been screaming no that whole way. It's voice flashing in front of her eyes before the kill. That her survival, had meant the death of another.

Alliances, Sparrow wasn't sure what to make of them. She wasn't sure at all. They could be the greatest freakin thing she'd do in the games, or her worst decision ever. Because how were you suppose to know? Know anything about what kind of person you were allying with. They could be putting up a front, trying to charm or flatter their way to you. How was she supposed to know what was genuine and what wasn't?

Did Sparrow even have any past training that could help her In these games? Any skills that'd been long retained since childhood? She didn't think so. Unless you counted chopping corn the same as chopping flesh. She didn't even know basic first aid if her back was anything to go by.

Screw it, Sparrow didn't care. It wasn't as of she'd be freakin' picked anyways. Plus, as long as Sage was safe, Sparrow couldn't care less.

* * *

 **District 12**

 _Lilith Cadow (13) and Alarik Dayne (15)_

Lilith screamed. She clutched her head and clawed angrily at her hair. She couldn't take it. The voices, they were crowding around in her head, nightmares were coming back fully realized. She screamed again and she heard a crash from downstairs. And a shout. She didn't know who shouted though.

She was in an arena, her vision tinted red. She was running, her surrounding passing by her in a flurry of motion. She just kept running, her hair was sticky with sweat and plastered to her forehead. She stumbles slightly and falls, her arms bends awkwardly underneath her. A sickening crunch emerging. She's not crying but screaming, it hurts so much the tears won't come. Instead her voice is hoarse with screaming, screaming for pain. Until suddenly she clamps her mouth shut realizing her mistake. She's alerted the predator to her place of rest. The grass gently tickles her face as she watches the blood leave her arm and soak into the dirt. She's waiting now, for some reason, waiting for her predator. She knows she won't be able to escape.

Her arm can barely function, but she manages to get up, her arm hanging limply at her side. Lilith lets out a cry as a sudden movement sends her tumbling back down. She feels blood trickle down her face from where she bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. She can feels a bruise starting to form on her cheek, too.

Her predator steps into the clearing, her breath hitches. She'd led him right to her. She stares, it's the man that murderred her family. He smiles, but his face is blurred, the only thing visible are his eyes. A startling blue that shocks Lilith out of her stumper. She starts to back up, ignoring the pain in her arm, biting down on her lip to avoid crying. Frantically trying to escape, despite having time to do so before. Her arm hurts so much that she is crying now, tears prickle her eyes and moisture a tickles her cheeks. She's shuffling back faster now until she stops. Her back's hit a tree. She slumps down awkwardly and defeated, but still crying. The predator looms above her before bringing it down, the weapon down. Her vision flares with light.

And she's back, her brother holding her and rocking her forcefully. "Lilith! Lilith!" Her hands are still clamped down onto her ears, her voice makes an awkward croaking sound. Her voice still hoarse from screaming. She's scared, that's just been her uncle in the hunger games. He'd been coming to kill her, murder her. Again. This time it's just been in the personal hell the Capitol had created.

"Lilith." She turns her head and sees the brown eyes of her brother staring into her own. "Lilith." She gives an awkward head nod. He smiles, but it's sad and forced. Her mind is still racing, she can still hear the whispers too. Her personal demons throwing themselves in her face again and again. She feels the extreme pain of memories coming back again.

Her vision takes on a greenish hue and an oddly feminine voice carries through her mind. Piercing and cold. She clutches her head, as if it'd make it better. The voice carries through, but then it all clears again. Lilith is left standing, she sees her brother's arm on her wrist. She wonders vaguely if he'd lifted her up. Or if she'd gotten up on her own and almost fallen back down.

She still felt dizzy. Already her past nightmare and present one was mixing in. She can't help it, but these games have already taking hold of her subconscious. Now, combining her two greatest fears into one. And Lilith can't take it.

Hunted. Not again. Hunted to kill. No. Lilith can't take it. She can't be hunted again. Never again. Her brother's there. Looking at her with concern and anxiety. "I-" she is silenced by a wave of his hand. "No need to explain yourself. It's Ok." He bends down to give her a hug, his black hair sweeping across his forehead to cover his eyes. Lilith is stiff as rocks at first but soon leans into it. Squeezing her eyes shut so that the nightmares don't come flooding back.

They stay there, hugging, for a while. Lilith is greatful for the comfort. She'd thought the nightmares had been getting better, the constant voices and sounds, they'd been getting better. Right? She'd thought so, but these games had brought Everything back. Everything back. Her head hurt from all the thinking and fear. She couldn't take any more fear. Her brother was all she had, she couldn't cope without him. Lilith was not Ok.

The games were her worst nightmare relived, running away from predators. Trying not to get killed, to know that there was someone actively trying to kill her. Lilith had hated it, it had hurt her. Broken her. Shattered her. And now it was coming back, all those repressed memories and hurt. All the pain and death. She can see it clearly and it hurts. And for entertainment, for someone else's sick, cruel entertainment. She starts panting into her brother's chest. Heavily panting.

Then she's screaming. Screaming and screaming. Her mind is scattered. She drops to her knees bringing her brother down with her. She starts to shake and her brother hold her tightly to stop it. But then the nightmares reproach and his eyes are now bright red. Blood red, his face is contorting and suddenly he's the man who murderred her family. And she screams. Her mind consumed once again by her own fears, powerful enough to completely consume her. Until she's fully certain that what she's seeing is reality.

* * *

 **Sorry I got this out so late, but I had my brother's birthday to celebrate. So yeah... Poll's still up for you to vote for your favourite tribute.**


	31. Reapings, III

**Tribute: Hollis Pobarr**

 **Age: 17**

 **Gender: Male**

Hollis stood angrily clutching his bleeding finger. Watching the liquid Crimson slowly trickle down his arm, he watched as it hit the ground, followed shortly by another two drops. "This is abuse, we will have their head yet, boys." Said Ajax, as he too, watched the blood. A scowl on his face. A sigh was heard coming from Durango's general direction, muttering something in Spanish neither Hollis nor Ajax understood.

Hollis floor led off the remaining blood and then slowly, trying to look casual, wiped it on Durango. "I saw that." The Spanish boy's voice stopped Hollis in his tracks. He slowly retreated, a scowl etched across his features. He heard a snort snicker from Ajax, to which Hollis promptly told him to, "Shut up." He pale bond shut up.

Hollis hated these games. They were despicable, great, yet another reason for him to hate the Capitol. How did they ever even have loyalists to begin with? The Capitol was a monster, how in the world did anyone ever think they were in any form right? Hollis didn't understand. Well, he guessed they were getting their share of karma now. You support us? Well, now it's time to die. Happy Hunger games. That was his Capitol impression, good right?

Hollis would be ecstatic to kill the Capitol, thrilled even. Other rebels, not so much. The Capitol was turning them into murderrers, they were forcing him to become a killer. He wouldn't have a problem of it was some stuck up loyalist brat who thought they were God's gift to the world (right?), but another rebel. Someone, just like him. Who helped the rebellion as he had, who in a way, had affected Hollis' life in every sense imaginable? He didn't know.

Hollis had never been extremely poetic with his words. No over blown hyperboles or metaphors, he was blunt and straight to the point. Here games weren't anything other than sick. He didn't care about anything, other than the fact that these games were created by the same people who killed his brother. And now they were asking him to kill too. The Capitol could burn in hell, for all Holis cared. He just wanted his brother back.

The Capitol was a tyrant, a monster of manipulation. They were good, so good, it hurt at what they did. That was pain, they inflicted hurt and pain and Hollis wanted out. He didn't want to watch this train wreck of a game unfold, he didn't want any part of it. He didn't even want to show up to this stupid reaping because what were the chances he'd get picked. Almost as high as the chances these games were rigged, had been Ajax's respond to the Hollis question.

That'd been a turning point for Hollis, what if they were rigged? Well, then he certainly had a giant chance of been pulled didn't he? Then he would kill, and it would be in the name of the Capitol. Because it was the Capitol who were killing all these children not him. It was the Capitol who'd even arranged these stupid games in the first place. Could he murder? Could he, Hollis Pobarr, kill another? He liked to think he was strong enough to be able to kill and then sleep the next day. He told both Ajax and Dirango so. That he could kill if he wanted, that he could kill and feel nothing of it. Think nothing of it.

Hollis felt the mask as he'd spoken those words, tighten around his features. And he hadn't cared. He just kept telling himself, you can kill, you can kill, you can kill. He would take a knife and bring it down, he could take a knife and stab. And kill, and he would convince himself he wasn't doing it for the Capitol. He wasn't doing it for those who'd killed his brother. That he was doing it for him, he was doing it for him, which only made him feel worse, because what kind of sicko kills for himself? The Capitol. But he didn't care, he would just keep saying it. It wasn't the Capitol controlling him, it wasn't the monsters eating away at him. It was al, him, all him. He wouldn't let them win. He wouldn't kill for them. He would kill for him. No matter how messed up that was, he'd rather kill for himself, then do it because the Capitol had told him to.

He could easily blame it on them couldn't he? Say, that it as self defence and that he had no choice. The Capitol made him. But he was Hollis freakin' Pobarr, and the Capitol wouldn't make him do anything. He would never let them control him, not like they'd done to countless others. Anything those sick bastards would throw at him, he would throw back. He wasn't killing because they made him, he was killing because he made him. He would become a murderer because he was a rebel. Not because he was a tribute. Because the second he killed and thought, The Capitol made me, he was no longer a rebel. He was just another brainwashed idiot.

He wouldn't let that happen. He would fight for his brother, he would kill for him. He was going to show the Capitol that not everyone had succumbed to their stupid selves. Because he was going to defy every single freakin' thing they forced him to do. And he was gonna laugh about it, because none of it was because he had no choice, or the fact that the Capitol forced him to, nope, he was doing it all to show that he was the only one who made him do anything. He did everything he did, because he said so. And he was going to prove that.

He looked at the boys next to him, Durango who was saying something in rapid Spanish under his breath. And Ajax who seemed bored out of his mind. He caught Hollis starring and deadpanned, "Like what you see, Pobarr?" Hollis rolled his eyes, "Don't flatter yourself, Blondie." Ajax promptly turned away. Hollis looked up at the stage and struggled to not burst out laughing. Ajax didn't have as much luck.

The pale boy completely lost his cool and let out the biggest snort Hollis had ever heard. "What the Hell is she wearing?!" The pale blond managed between gasps. Suddenly all eyes turned to him. In the absolute silence of the courtyard, the blond boy'd comment certainly did not go unnoticed. "Sorry, Sorry, it's just- just what the Hell made her think... _That_ was a good idea? Oh my God, Capitol citizens what the Hell is wrong with them? Oh my god."

Hollis heard some scattered snickering. And he, Hollis, would admit to being guilty of some of those snickers. That was when he heard his other best friend speak up as well. "You shouldn't laugh, Ajax. She might be going through some emotional strains right now and dressing like that is the only way she knows how to cope." That was when Hollis lost it. And suddenly he felt something grab his arms and hold him up, he feels pain shoot through his left arm, which is being help painfully behind his back. He sees the same happen to Durango and Ajax.

He looked up to see a mask of white and black. A peacekeeper. How the hell did they get here so quickly? "Boys, for disturbing the ceremony punishments will be enforced. After the reaping public wipppings for the three of you. This is a new era, one where leniency from the Capitol will not be given. Rules will be enforced and they will be obeyed." Hollis nodded? At least it wasn't execution, Hollis grimaced. "Well it's not my fault she chose to freakin dye her skin green." Came Hollis' snippy reply, no way in hell was he just submitting that easy. He wasn't going to shut up just because the Capitol made him.

" _She_ has a name. It's Sylvia Silvertongue. The Captiol escort for District 9." The woman said, her teeth gritting together in frustration. "Well sorry, sweetie. Didn't mean to hurt your feelings, while we're at it, were you drunk when you picked out that hair?" He continued on, he didn't care. He briefly saw Durango shaking his head, but he ignored it. That's when he saw Sylvia's face erupt into a flame of red. "Shut up!" She screeched. "Ooh, now I've got little miss Capitol escort screaming, I'm so scared." He hollered back, Hollis barely even noticed how quiet the place was, or how all eyes were focused on the pair.

He felt a sharp tug at his arm and he winced in pain, but he had a high tolerance and a measly sprain wasn't going to make him cry. "Just get on with the ceremony, lady." He saw her huff in annoyance, "Up his number of whippings." She said, calmly, Hollis didn't even flinch. "Bring it." Anything was better than what his scar was living evidence of. He could take Anyang they threw and it and more. He watched the green skinned, purple haired woman strut across the stage. "I'll now be out ting on a video, if you-" "A video? Are you serious? Just get to picking the tributes." Hollis shouted out. He felt another tug on his other arm this time, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard to stop the pain. He thinks his arm is broken, he's sure it's broken. But he isn't giving the Capitol the pleasure of seeing him cry. They didn't deserve his tears.

"Fine." She lets out in an indignant huf. He smirks, she's weak. He feels the pain in his arm build back up, he bits his tongue harder. He isn't going to cry, no way in Hell. The pain is actually unbearable, and he starts to see black spots dance around the corner of his vision. His head starts to drop, before he feel a sharp pain in his wrist. He jerks back up, he looks down and sees that his wrist has been twisted completely, sprained, maybe broken by the peacekeeper. "Pay attention." The man holding him says aggressively. Hollis growls in response.

He does look up though, to see Sylvia with a slip of paper in her hand, her green hand. She clears her throat once, before licking her lips, black lipstick still staying on, unfazed. "Leilani Tareyn." He hears a gasp. And his head immediately snaps to the side, despite still being held tightly by the peacekeeper. A girl of around his age, blonde hair, pushes her way through the crowd. Angrily growling and hissing. She looks on the verge of tears though, despite her angry attitude. She scrambles up the stage and stand tall and challenging. She smirks.

And then Hollis meets her eyes, he raises an eyebrow, responding to her challenge. Her mouth pulls into a thin line, he winks before nodding towards the escort. Her head snaps to the green skinned woman. Holding a slip of white, slightly stained yellow, paper. Leilani turns back towards him, she raises an eyebrow in question. Hollis knows the ballots are rigged. He watches Sylvia glance at the young blonde tribute, before focusing back on the paper. He tries to catch her eye again and succeeds, he watches as Sylvia's mouth opens to speak. Then he winks at the young Tareyn.

"Hollis Pobarr." That's when al Hell breaks loose. He kicks the peacekeeper roughly and he's dropped. He spins and manages a punch in. That was just for fun, he thinks. He manages to catch himself and his broken arm and wrist is hurting like hell, but he just grits his teeth and runs. His arm's stinging still and he hurts, and suddenly he sees his brother's face behind his eyelids and he's shocked out of his stupor. He continues to run. He's pushing through crowds and he vaguely hears screaming behind him. He doesn't care. At one point he's struggling because some boy won't move and he's frustrated and now he's throwing desperate punches because he doesn't want to get caught and then-

Suddenly he hears a gun cock, Hollis freezes and turns around, slowly. It's a peacekeeper. Holding out his defence towards Hollis, he looks young, maybe only eighteen, his mask is off and his brown locks are falling into his eyes. He looks eighteen, maybe twenty at the latest. Hollis can't help but pity him. He looks to the stage where he sees Leilani, looking poised and curious. She gives him an intrigued look, before he winks at her and everything goes black. He's officially passed out from the excruciating pain coming from his left side. That, or he's just been shot.

* * *

 **Tribute: Haizea Lobo**

 **Age: 18**

 **Gender: Female**

Haizea looks around bored, her eyes barely wandering across the mass of children. She sighs. It's like watching ants. She hates the Capitol, absolutely despises them. Her revenge seems barely fulfilled by what she's already done, but she knows that she can't do more. Not unless she wants to end up dead. They'd killed her parents, burnt them to the ground, because they thought. Not because they knew. Because they thought, guessed, _assumed_. Now they were killing more. They were killing children.

At least after this, she'd be done. She was eighteen, next year they couldn't hold her down. Not for anything. She'd be free, like Mikel. Finally, free of the Capitol. Not really, but better than what this was. Haizea looked composed, she knew she did. Her arms were crossed lazily acros her chest, her face slack, but still dignified. She was creating an aura of calm. She needed to look calm. Fear, an assassin learned to mask it. They had to, they were dead if they couldn't.

When you're told to kill, you can't be afraid to pierce the heart. You can't hesitate to plunge the knife. You can't show your fear, or they'll take advantage of it. She wasn't going to show the Capitol that she was scared, because she wasn't. She couldn't be. Haizea'd done the math, though she was sure an amateur could do the same, the probability of her being reaped was little to none. She noticed out of the corner of her eye a girl, her age, long blonde hair, trying to subtly gaze up at her. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. And Haizea knew she was being either admired, or feared. She didn't know which one she'd prefer.

Somehwre along the way, she'd come to terms that both were equally acceptable. Maybe it was her fourth kill, when the man she'd stabbed in the heart had told her she was strong, maybe it was her fifth kill when the woman she'd murdered had trembled before her blade. Perhaps number seven, when the man had looked at her, both impressed and scared. Before she stuck the blade to his throat and cut. A good assassin was feared. Just the very mention of her name would strike fear throughout your core. Of course, not now really, not her actual name. They'd given her some sort of code name, she didn't pay much heed to what it'd been.

Sometimes she wished that it wasn't her. That she hadn't been chosen to kill. That she'd gotten her revenge in a different way. But Haizea was smart, nothing would come of thinking about it. Noting would change, nothing would happen, if only she thought about it. The Capitol were monsters, but perhaps somewhere along the way, she too had turned. Which made her mask of maturity falter, for just the briefest of moments, before she had it under control once more. Because that wasn't right. She wasn't the monster, the Capitol was.

They were the ones murderring children, they were the ones tearing apart families, they were the ones destroying everything. _But Haizea, hadn't you done the same. Those peacekeepers you killed that night, they had families didn't they? Those parties you crashed, you destroyed them didn't you? The bombs your team set up, you didn't try to stop them. Children died, but you didn't really stop it did you?_ Shut up!

Haizea felt like panicking, because that wasn't true. None of it was true. Right? She hadn't, she hadn't gone to their level. She would never be as bad as the Capitol. She'd made a difference, Mikel and her had made a difference. They killed Capitol men, people with so much blood on their hands that they looked like gloves. Almost subconsciously she glanced down at her own hands. Exactly how many had she murderred. She'd lost count. How many deaths had been because of bombs her team had set up? It didn't matter. War made monsters of men and women, it seemed. Haizea just had to hope her monster was better than the rest.

She kept her head up, made sure that no sign that she'd even had those thoughts was visible. She was strong, and she made sure that what people saw of her wasn't some broken little girl, it was a strong warrior. Most of all,she made sure they didn't see the killing beauty, the assassin, the monster.

Especially people like Mikel, Buck, people who didn't deserve her burdens. The weight her internal struggles supplied was something she would carry. She didn't need the help. She wouldn't need the help. Her secrets, her struggles, were ones that she'd take to the grave. She was positive of that fact. If the word that she'd been an assassin ever got out, it would be Mikel's fault alone. Not hers.

God, she sounded so strange to herself. Haizea was confident in her abilities, if she did 't want people finding out they wouldn't. And Mikel, he wouldn't betray her like that, he couldn't. Wouldn't. She looked towards the stage. There was slight movement coming from the officials, they seemed to be disvussing something. She didn't pay much bother towards it though. She looked back towards the other children, though she could hardly call some of them that. Haizea was strong, but she had hidden muscles, underneath her slim figure and elegant features. She was lean, like a swimmer. So she could move, like an assassin should, so she was graceful and sly, like an assassin should be. Too much bulk o pin someone of steals was never a good thing.

A cough Into the microphone grabs Haizea's attention away from the other potential tributes and towards the stage. Standing there is a man, tall, at least 6"5", he was very slim though. Unnaturally so. His hair is dyed a midnight blue, strands of violet mixed in. His skin is a dark mocha colour. Gold tattoos line his arms, some reaching up towards his face, a sharp contrast towards the dark of his skin. When he speaks, it's heavily accented. Capitol. Haizea curls away in disgust internally, but she knows she can't really do it. Not in front of all these people, the slightest hint could give her away.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for the reapings to begin?" He spreads his hands, as oif waiting for an answer, when no one does, he coughs lightly before proceeding on. "Before we begin, though, the Capitol has prepared a video for you." He points to a screen gradually being lowered down. And a projecter is shined onto it. A video starts playing.

"District in chaos. War raging..." Haizea listens. She can't help but grit her teeth a small he videos goes on. "Rebels, hundreds of them, destroying the peace. Not caring about those around them. Only about their own personal gain." They keep going on, showing numorous tapes. Haizea can feel her anger growing, not that her outwards appearence changes throughout. The Capitol continues to go on about the war, making them seem like the victors, the winners. The unlikely heroes, only to reign victorious. History is written by the winners. Haizea, for the first time that day, lets so of her anger shine through. Expressed through the grit of teeth, concealed behind chapped lips.

Finally the video ends, Haizea would say it was about three and a half minutes long. She breathes again. Her attention fixtated once more on the man on the stage. Fake smile and all, his black lipstick seeming to clash with the happy vibe his clothes and hair present. Strange. "We'll start with the ladies then, shall we?" He then proceeds to jump slightly, before starting his way towards the bowl. His actions strangely skit sh, his eyes glancing upwards towards the cameras once before proceeding. Strange.

He reaches the bowl, his mocha fingers dipping into the bowl. They trap a long slip of paper between its fingers. He pulls it out slowly, building suspense. She feels the sudden urge to snort at the predictable outcome. He licks his lips, before glancing at the cameras again. Haizea frowns, why does he keep looking over there. She suppresses the urge to look at the cameras herself. His mouth parts before he speaks.

"Haizea Lobo." She freezes internally, he was kidding. But no, she knew she wouldn't be doing herself any favours by denying it. She waits for a path to be made for her. When the children part after a moment's hesitation she steps forward. Slowly and calculated, daring anybody to say anything. She reaches the stage and accepts the hand offered to her by the escort. She pretends not to notice how his eyes linger monetarily on her chest.

"Well aren't you a doll?" She manages a smile. Trying to look as calm and collected as possible. He clasps his hands together. "Onto the men, now." He quickly strides over towards the bowl, holding the names of all eligible males of the District. He reaches inside, his fingers seeming to dance trying to choose the right slip. Finally it grabs it.

"Buck Chandler." Haizea freezes and her head whips around. Her defence faltering slightly. Ok, her mask falling almost entirely off. Buck, little sweet, scared, Buck. They called Buck. She watches as path clears for him in the thirteen year old section. He looks scarred practically to death. She watches as he shakily makes his way up to the stage, looking on the verge of tears. She swallows. His eyes are trained on hers, he's looking fearful. He looks terrified.

It's at that moment that Haizea vows to protect him. She has to. Haizea isn't for these games, someone good deserves to win. Someone pure, someone like Buck. She was going to bring him home, he was coming home. That was a promise.

He makes his way onto the stage. His legs threatening to let out. She stares at him, scarred, so scarred. He's crying now, silent tears. No sobs, no cries, just tears. Trailing down his cheeks. "Shake hands you two." So she does. She reaches out. Hoping that Buck won't plan on killing her, that her vow of safety for the little boy wouldn't be betrayed. That he wouldn't turn his back on her and kill. She trusts him enough not to.

They shake hands and then they turn. Haizea won't cry. Doesn't cry. But now, she definitely feels like doing so. She raises their hands high, she needs to look proud to be here. She needs to look confident.

"District 10. Look at your tributes!"

* * *

 **Tribute: Thorn Willows**

 **Age: 16**

 **Gender: Male**

Thorn bit his lip nervously. This was it. He was in the middle of the sixteen year old section, he was ready. Thorn knew that realistically, he wasn't going to get picked. That didn't stop the insane pit of fear bubbling in his chest. Because Thorn wanted out, he didn't want to have to sit here and wait for them to pick a name, he just wanted them to do it now.

Pick a name already, please. So far, not all the kids had even gotten their finger pricked. And his last name was Willows, that's pretty far down the line, if you asked him. Thorn was just very impatient. God, he remembered wishing for something exciting to happen, remembered wishing for a new adventure. This wasn't what he meant. This wasn't what he meant at all. He'd give anything to go back to his life of the grocer's son.

Thorn didn't even know what to think of these games. Well, they were bad, obviously. But just how bad? And how good? Thorn didn't know. The thing that probably disgusted him the most was the fact that the Capitol citizens were probably enjoying it right now. They were probably loving it up. A new reality TV show to add to their roster of favourite. How exciting. Not. At least, not for any of them.

Tear streaked faces and whimpering children, Thorn had never seen the District look worse. Not even, when they'd been in the midst of war. There, it'd been chaos, but you knew what to expect. Here, nothing. The continuous silence was unnerving and the only sounds were those of children trying to hold back tears. Thorn didn't know, it was just such a false allure of calm that scared him. It was all so nonchalant that Thorn didn't know what to think. They were trying to make him feel less nervous, maybe even less hateful, with their sense of goodness. Well, Thorn, was scared.

He looked at the other children. Because of... Certain habits, more like being too bored for anything else, Thorn was a master at reading people. Or, at least, he was very good. He liked to think so, at least. He was. He could tell almost always what they were thinking, save for a few. Those who could lie excellently and those who couldn't. He didn't know, just something he'd never been able to pick up on.

Thorn wasn't sure how he'd fare in the games, if chosen. Sure like mentioned, he could read people, but other than that, what did he really have that bested everyone else's? He didn't really have any prior training. Unless you counted stacking vegetables training. He was strong enough, he guessed, and pretty fast. Other than that, he didn't think there was anything too special about him, He thought. He glanced at the children. Some looked as if they were trying to appear brave, they weren't succeeding. He saw the cracks in their masks, the flaws in their physique. They weren't the best, but then again, neither was Thorn.

He'd cried after he'd gotten home that day. Actually cried. As much as he hated to admit to it, he had. Good thing everyone'd been gone, out doing whatever it was they did on weekends. He usually just kept the shop up. Oh, his sweet little shop. How he longed to return to it, pretend none of this had ever happened. He'd just have to do it for the next two to three years, then he was free. Because what're the odds, that he'd get picked out of the thousands, him. Plain old Thorn, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Right?

He kept watching, maybe to catch of glimpse of anyone passing by, who looked extremely distressed. He saw one girl, who was hiding the fact that she'd been crying very well. With her hair in front of her face, her posture talks confident. He nodded appreciatively. See, she knew what she was doing, it helped that the red rinming her eyes had almoust completely faded. Compared to say, the young boy over in the fifteen year olds section, just next to THorn, looked completely disheveled. His hair was a mess, his eyes still sporting some tears, not to mention him biting his nails, or closing his eyes respectively. Thorn grimaced slightly.

"Ehem. Hello, District 11" His head wiped to the stage, only to be treated by a man, with pink hair and yellow skin. Makeup on point, if not a little extra. Thorn cocked his head to the side curiously, he was pretty short, and it made it a little difficult to properly see everything. Perhaps it was just his imagination. It has to be, right? "I'm Deduc Harmony. The escort for your District, assigned by the Capitol." Deduc started clapping at the mention of the Capitol. He received some applause as well, but just barely.

"Now, will you all please turn your attention towards the screen over here?" Thorn did so, a large screen was lowered down, and a projections started to play. "War raging, District in chaos." Thorn bent down, his head bowed slightly, he didn't want to see this. He didnt want a reminder. He wasn't crying, although he felt his eyes prickle with them. He wasn't freaking out, no matter how uncomfortable the video made him. He himself, being a neutral, hadn't lost to much over the war. But he'd just been eleven, he did have the PTSD to show.

The video, shortly after, came to a close. Thorn's head came back up. To face Mr. Harmony, the escort. A smile was plastered onto his face, and Thorn realized, he couldn't read him. Curious. He watched the flamboyant outfit Mr. Harmony wore, glimmer in the sunlight. His fluorescent hair seeming strangely out of place on the grim District. "Well, onto the reapings, yes?" Some scattered applause once more, Thorn this time joined in. "We'll start with the ladies? Yeah?" He watched as their escort sauntered across the stage, his black lips curl curling upwards, in a sort of smile. Still Thorn couldn't read him. Curiouser.

He watched as Mr. Harmony, the escort, stuck his hand into the bowl. His fingers circling the names carefully, until finally, he grasped one. He pulled it out. "Sage Blythe." His head wiped around, towards the seventeen year old section. A girl with dark, milky, skin, like most of the District, and short cropped hair, stepped forward. Until, an arm reached out and stopped her. "No. I volunteer for Sage." The arm steps out, a body is now visible. A pathway clears for the girl, and Thorn has to admire her bravery. He just has to. But Thorn also wondered why, she'd volunteered.

She walks up the stage confidently, but Thorn can see that she's on the verge of tears. He sees her whisper something under her breath. Thorn looks down, he could never imagine having that amount of bravery. Never in hiS lifetime. He has to admire her, he has to. For doing something he never could.

The girl's on the stage now. And Thorn watches. The escort approaches her. "Hello, darling, what's your name?" The girl takes a breath before answering, her voice noy quivering like Thorn would have expected. "Sparrow Blackmore." Her arms are still by her sides, not fidgeting like Thorn's would have been. He sees Mr. Harmony's eyes soften. "And why'd you volunteer, did you know her?" Sparrow licks her lips once before answering. The District is silent, her voice carries over the thousands of kids. "Yes. She was my best friend."

The escort nods at her answer. "So why'd you volunteer? Do you not think she's strong enough to survive?" Did they have a script? Is the thought that popped into Thorn's head next. Was there a script that they read off of, when chosen as the escorts. And just how, were the escorts chosen? He's baiting her, is what Thorn soon comes to realize next. He's baiting her, to look bad. Why the hell would he do that. He sees Sparrow stiffen and give him a look, one he can't quite decipher. "Sage is blind." That seems to end the conversation.

The escort clears his throat. "Very well then, onto the boys." He sees the man walk calmly aCross the stage. Over towards the glass bowl which contains his name, it must. Thorn wasn't sure how they fit all of the names into the bowl. Sure the population had dropped since the rebellion, but they weren't that little.

He watches the man reach into the bowl and pick a name. No stalling like he had for Sparrows. Or maybe it's just him. He pulls out the slip, he reads it over once, then twice. Thorn bits his lip, and his hands tighten into fists.

"Thorn Willows." Thorn freezes, that's his name. They didn't just call his name. Oh God, they did. They called his name. He sees the children glance in his direction before clears, singeling him out for the Cpitol. But Thorn is frozen, because what were the odds? What were the odds that it'd be him that was chosen. He still hasn't moved. "Thorn Willows." He still hasn't moved. "Him! It's him!" Thorn's head whips around. He did not. He did not. That boy did not just-

"You! Thorn Willows. Get up here, now!" That boy didn't. He couldn't have. He freakin' ratted Thorn out! Thorn feels his legs start to move, slowly but surely. His mind is racing, his breath is ragged. He's standing on the stage now. "Hello there." He turns to face the escort, who's just spoken. "Hi." Was what he managed to say in response. Cringing at how frail his own words sound to himself.

The man smiled, and Thorn tried to read him once more. Failure once more. Why couldn't he read him? There wasn't anything special about this man, besides weird styles, so why couldn't he just read him? Thorn didn't know.

"Shake hands you two." Thorn turned towards the girl, Sparrow. Who'd volunteered for her blind best friend. Thorn tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, that the District favourite was already decided. Completely. She stuck out her hand, Thorn did the same. Breathing, still raggedy, but she wasn't much better.

They turned and it was him who raised their hands. He didn't care if she was the favourite, he would show those sponsors exactly what they were missing out on.

"District 11! Your tributes!"

* * *

 **Tribute: Alarik Dayne**

 **Age: 15**

 **Gender: Male**

His head was bowed, He felt like crap. Hus eyes were clenched shut, to avoid any tears falling. This was just his day wasn't it. Just mhiss freakin' day. First, He fails all of my exams, guess He can say goodbye Medical school, right? Then it's right on to the reapings. The death games, oh, how wonderful.

He just wished he wasn't such a failure sometimes, that for once in his life he could make his family proud. Like his brother, mister golden boy of the family, who of course graduated a year earlier and moved straight into his oh-so-fancy medical school in the Capitol. Yet here he was, Alarik Dayne, having to repeat a grade if he ever wanted even a chance of getting to be a doctor. Why was he such a damn failure?

Now, he was standing, a child among hundreds, waiting for them to just get on with the reapings so the day could end. Please, let it end. His name was pretty early on in the alphabet, so he had to wait for everyone to finish. Please finish. He wasn't the only kid crying, or the only one wanting out, but it sure felt like that. He saw others with puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes and knew that they'd been crying. He wasn't crying, but he was pretty sure he was going to be soon. But he had different reasons then them.

Of course his dad had yelled at him, why wouldn't he? Telling him things Alarik was already very aware of. His brother's name was mentioned a few times, obviously. Why would his father ever miss the chance of comparing him to his better, older brother? It was safe to say that no matter how hard he tried, he was never good enough. Lots and lots of failed expectations. And he was embarrassed by it. He just wanted to cry, but he was not crying in front of all these people.

He didn't care if crying was good for him, that it was Ok to show emotions, because Alarik didn't want another reason to be called a failure. His eyes were still closed and his mind was practically entirely consumed by his thoughts, self-loathing and hurt circling through his brain. Because Alarik was a happy kid, but he could barely grasp even a feeling of that happiness now. And he hated it.

His fist clenched, he could feel his nails biting into his flesh. No blood, not that he could see anything anyways. But he was fairly certain that he'd be able to feel it if so. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes. The light seemed blinding after the darkness his eyelids had provided. He suddenly felt the urge to close them again, but knew that he wouldn't gain anything from it, so no point right? He tried looking around for his friends, and strangely he couldn't see any of them, not a single one. Strange.

He didn't think much of it later though. He couldn't. His mind too focused on himself, call him selfish but he wasn't going to deny it. He looked around again, hoping to see someone he at least partially knew. But he couldn't, very strange indeed. He decided to ignore it though.

Which brought his mind to the games, a subject, he'd been trying to ignore. And failing at apparently. He didn't know what to think of these games, he tried not to think of them. He was a neutral, which of course made him pissed at the fact that he too was included in these games. He didn't do anything wrong, he hadn't rebelled, why should he be punished. It wasn't fair. District twelve had been mostly rebel, but he wasn't. It was annoying, because even though chances of him being picked were very slim, he still could be. And that little 'could be' may be what ends up with him dead. Him dead, because of a war he didn't start, and a punishment he didn't deserve.

Which made him very, very bitter about the whole ordeal. Alarik knew that his friends had been upset about it, too. Not that he'd talked to them about it much. Too busy trying to cram in some last minute studying for his exams. Which he of course failed, ceremoniously. He wanted to cry. Snap out of it. Focus on the games. The games. That's right, the games.

What kind of bastard though of these games? A sick one that's for sure. They were forcing children, little kids, twelve year olds who hadn't even reached puberty yet, to kill one another. To murder. A classic game of killed or be killed. And the Capitol was proud of it. The mayor seemed reluctant about the idea, but he didn't see him complaining. Which made him all the more angry. Because these games, they were so unfair. To those Capitol trained soldiers with a Chance of getting picked, those perfect Capitol citizens. They had an advantage. They had prior training towards killing, towards hurt.

Alarik was pissed, he was most definitely pissed. But most of all,he was scared. And too scared to admit to the fact. Because he was well aware that if he was chosen, then his chances of survival were slim. Sure he could make traps, woohoo. But what if he couldn't find anything to make them with? He was experienced in the field of medical emergencies, not the best but he was willing to bet he was better than most, but once again what if was too injured to find the proper things to heal himself with?

Well, then he was screwed wasn't he?

He groaned, earning a few looks from the other potential tributes, but they didn't say anything. Nobody said anything. Which only enerved him more, because why was everyone so silent? It was freaking him out.

Tap. Tap. Two taps, to a microphone, resounded in the silent courtyard. Almost as if planned, the whole mass turned towards the stage. Standing there was their mayor. He was straightening a tie as he waited for complete silence. Not from the children, oh no, but from the other officials behind him. Finally they stopped. And all attention was focused on the young man at the front. He put on a smile. "Welcome, to the first annual reaping of District 12!" A few halfhearted claps were heard throughout the courtyard. His smile became strained.

"Well, if you'd all focus your attention to the screen. The Capitol presents to you, a video on the games." All heads turn to the strange screen situated on the stage, a little to the right. An image starts playing. "War raging. Districts in chaos..." And Alarik keeps watching. The words no longer reaching him as all he can see is the screen, the images flashing. And he's horribly fascinated by them. Death, blood, war, chaos. It's all there and Alarik can't tear his eyes away from it. He's fixtated.

Afte a few moments later, the video comes to a close. And all attention is once again brought back to the stage, after a few simple taps. This time, he's seeing a woman, dressed in all blue, weirdly enough, with green and yellow hair, and poca-dotted skin. Long eyelashes and big lips, he cringes away. She is... Interesting. Her smile look too big for her face and he bits his lip. She scares him a little to be honest.

He watches as she speaks. "Hello, my name is Maia Lucarcy. I'm your Districts Capitol escort!" She starts clapping and once again only a few claps may be heard. Her smile remains, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Ladies first then?" She doesn't wait for an answer and starts walking over. She pauses over the bowl, and reaches in, her tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration, But only slightly. He watches her strangely well manicured fingers into he bowl. Is that what all Capitol citizens looked like, and that accent, too?

Suddenly she grips onto one and Alarik leans forward slightly. Not even noticing that he does so. Not even realizing that suddenly he's kinda _into_ these games. That for the first time he can understand why the Caoitol citizens like the games so. She pulls out the slip dramatically and then pauses. Before she looks at the paper, her eyes narrowing slightly, before speaking. In that Capitol accent of hers.

"L-Lilith Cadow." Alarik barely notices the stutter, but doesn't pay much heed towards it. Because that name, everyone knows that name. That's Lilith, their resident crazy. A thirteen or twelve year old girl who is absolutely mad. And suddenly he feels bad, he pitied her. Even more when she stumbles onto the stage, looking scared and frightful. She's mumbling something and even in the absolute silence, Alarik can't pick up on what she's saying. Her eyes are madly dancing between the children, seeming to be looking for someone and Alarik softens.

He sees the escort soften visibly as well. Before she immediately perks up once again. Polka dots dancing across her skin. And there goes all human emotions, back to weird Capitol alien once agin. "Now onto the men, yes?" This time she gets an answer. Some smart-ass girl, probably relieved that it isn't her going into games, shouts out a, "Yes!" Followed suite by several giggles. All it does is make Alarik feel even more sick. How can they be happy at a time like this.

Sure it isn't you going into the games, but can you some compassion? Because Lilith is. So what, she's crazy, she's still human. She's also twelve, twelve years old. Maybe thirteen, she's a mere child. And she's most likely going to die, and you're joking and laughing around. Alarik feels strangely disgusted, because how can someone be so sick?

He turns back towards the escort, her hand already in the bowl. He watches as her thumb and middle finger grasp onto the slip of paper. She pulls it out. Smiling once again, and once agin, it doesn't seem to reach her eyes. Her eyes glaze over it once, before she softly clears her throat and speaks.

"Alarik Dayne." And suddenly all eyes are on him. And more than ever does he feel sick. He starts to panic, his mind spiralling out of control, his breath is ragged. He doesn't understand, before he straightens up and clears his mind. He tries to calm down, barely noticing the path that's been created for him. He straightens up further and breathes, before walking up to the stage under his own power. He tries to smile. But it comes out looking more somber than he intended.

He reaches the stage. Staring out to the sea of children below him. He tries looking for his friends, but can't see them still. "Well aren't you handsome." He blushes at the compliment, before turning to face her. She smiles, her strange, strange smile. "Shake hands you two." Alarik turns again, to face the little crazy that is Lilith. He smiles at her, a real genuine smile. She doesn't smile back. Even though she's looking at him, it's like she's seeing through him.

They shake hands and Alarik turns them both to face the crowd. And it's him who raises their hands. His smile is long gone, he stares at the crowd. Challenging them to do something about it.

"District 12, may I present to you, your tributes!"

* * *

 **?**

He frowned and clenched both of his fists. He watches as the tributes, Sparrow and Thorn walk up the stage respectively. He watches as they shake hands before raising them both into the air. He knows he should feel sad, but instead he somehow feels relief. Relief that it isn't him. It isn't him dying. He feels guilty about it later though.

Thorn seems familiar and he's crunches up his eyes to see him better. Where had he seen Thorn before? He doesn't know. Perhaps in passing they'd seen one another, maybe. He didn't know, and hoped never to find out. Knowing would make it all the more painful when he had to see Thorn die. When they both died. He knew that the two tributes weren't weak, but he also knew they weren't Victor materiel. The whole District knew, but no one was going to say anything.

He should be relieved that it isn't him going to the games, but he still can't shake the feeling of something bad happening. Something beyond his control and something strange. He can't seem to shake it. He senses hurt, and the horrible feeling in his stomach is telling him to beware, to take caution. Trying to warm him about something. He watches as the two are lead away. The escort following behind them. Ushering them Somewhere beyond his view.

He closes his eyes and breathes, hopefully that feeling is just his imagination. He hopes that it is just that. He wants to go see his sister, he needs to go see his sister. So not waiting to be dismissed, he silently slips out of the masses. He was near the border anyways and runs. Not looking back once. He hopes that no one noticed.

How wrong, he'd been.

* * *

 **Finally! We are done the reapings! Also, who's the mysterious dude at the end? Also Happy New Years!**


	32. Train Rides: To the Capitol

**District 1  
**

 **Tributes: Maya Spencer (F) and Mudas Ambertide (M)**

 **Escort: Lilith Teacup (F)**

Maya's head was perched on her hand, she felt her lips curl into a smile. Midas sat opposite her, refusing to meet her eyes. He was trying to look cool and nonchalant, but his white knuckles gripping the table between the two betrayed him. Her devious smile never left her face, as she started speaking to the blond beauty beside her.

"So, Midas, isn't is funny how we both ended up together in these games? Seems like fate just adores us as a pair, yes?" She flicked a strand of hair behind her, while she leaned towards Midas slightly. She saw him stiffen visibly, his breath seeming to hitch, his features scrunching up in anger.

"Yeah, _fate_. Don't play dumb, Maya." He practically growled in response. She tried to feign innocence. Her mouth parting slightly. "Whatever do you mean, Midas?" She leaned forward even more, so that both her elbows now rested on the table, head perched still on them. She saw him breath out slowly, a slight growl escaping him.

"You planned this, Maya. This is somehow your sick way of revenge. Your going to kill me." Maya covered up her shock quickly, hoping Midas hadn't seen. How had the boy found out? Not only about her rigging the games in her favour, but about her plan of revenge as well?

She was an expert at keeping up a mask, barely anyone had ever broken it, but Midas. Dear Midas, he'd never cared much for status quo or rules very much, had he? Because everyone knew that you didn't challenge her. But he still did, even before the catastrophe that was her sentencing him to death. He'd always been different, and different people needed to be eliminated. That's what her father had drilled into her, wasn't it? Why her rebel of a mom had left. Thoughts swirled in Maya's head, the thought of her mom almost making her lose the cool facade she's placed so effortlessly onto herself. Midas had always had that ability, to throw her off her game. He made her weak.

And she hated him for it.

"I don't run these games, Midas, surely, you know this?" She would keep up this act for as long as it took. She didn't care if Midas knew, because honestly who was going to take his word, a rebel's, over hers? Nobody. At least, not anyone of importance. She was well aware that he knew, and nothing was changing that mindset, but she could convince everyone else couldn't she? Another thing Midas seemed to be able to do, he could tell when she was lying. Not even her own _father_ could do that. Which Made Midas all the more intriguing, which was also why he had to die. And Maya, would have the pleasure of doing it.

"Whatever. But your dad does." Midas leaned forward as well. His teeth were bared, practically sneering at her. His eyes set in a heavy glare, that she was sure would make most back down, most, not Maya. She and Midas were special, instead she smiled. But once again, she was definitely impressed by the boy she would kill. It was inevitable really. But he'd figured out her father's involvement on the project, no one knew that. No matter how much Maya had wanted to speak about it. She made sure not to let that inpressed look work its way onto her way, instead opting to shape her features into one of cunning. She wanted Midas to think that she was always one step ahead of him.

"Fair enough. But enough about me, what about you? How's your father?" She smiled, trying to look as sweet as possible. She barely took notice to how their noses were practically touching. She saw Midas lean forward, she expected him to hit her, hurt her, lash out. But instead, he just immediately recoiled. Well that was dissapoitning. She sighed.

"He's good, last time I checked." Came the blond's hasty response. His fist were clenched. His eyes were trained on hers, never wavering. Challenging her to say more, edging her on. Like she'd just done to him. Oh Midas, how naive do you think she is? She wouldn't fall prey to his baiting, she wouldn't give him the pleasure. This was a game of cat and mouse, and Maya was determined to stay the cat.

"Great. What do you think of the games?" She sees his jaw clench, and his grip tighten. He's about to respond before a new presence interrupts them. They both turn at the sudden sound penetrating a world of just the two of them. Just the two of them, in their little game of dominance. There, in the doorway, is Lilith Teacup, their Capitol escort. Supposed to help them with their chances of surviving the games. She smiles at Lilith, hoping to fool yet another soul. Not hoping, no, knowing.

"Oh, um, Hello." Maya says, making sure her tone is sugary sweet. She hears Midas snort, because of course, he's Midas, he sees through any act she puts up. All thoughts of being impressed fly away, replaced by anger once again. Not that she lets it show of course, but she feels that if Midas wanted to, he'd be able to see through it. Like he always can. She wonders if circumstances had been different they'd have been lovers, the displays certainly point to that. She smiles, what a despicable thought.

They were soulmates, just not of the romantic or platonic way. They were soulmates, destined to hate. She sees Lilith smile back at her. "Well, as we wait for our train to arrive to the Capitol, I was thinking we could review the reapings. Give you a sense of the competition." That actually wasn't a bad idea, she lets her opinion on the idea show through, nodding at Lilith's statement. Lilith seems to light up at Maya's act. Maya smiles again, this time at Midas, and she makes sure it looks malicious.

Lilith walks over to the hologram on the table, and presses a few buttons on the projector. Now, instead of showing a still image of a forest, it changed to the reapings. Immediately she recognizes it as her own. She smiles. "We don't have to watch this one, it being yours and all." She hears the Calitolite accen to her side, she turns, to see her still standing escort. "It's fine, you can sit if you'd like." Is Maya's response, she pats the seat cushion next to her. Lilith smiles gratefully at the younger girl.

She turns back towards the screen. She sees herself, looking gorgeous as always. She sees herself volunteer, and she knows that the smile she displays towards the crowd will single her out as a threat. She knows it'll make her a threat. The volunteering will certainly make them intrigued. And she knows her beauty will catch the eyes of many male sponsors. She smiles. When she sees Midas walk up once his name is called, and she sees the look of absolute loathing he sends her way, she smiles. Some drama to stir up the Capitol citizens. She sees them shake hands and turn towards the crowd. She smiles, part one of mission Hunger Games is good. She succeeded. She's proud, she knows she's going to be a favourite. She knows.

Next is District 2. And Maya watches with mild interest, not even bothering to look over at Midas, she doesn't want to miss her competition. Maya was a master at reading people, she knew who she would have to lookout for and who she didn't. She also needed to know who to ally with. She needed someone she could manipulate.

It soon became clear that neither tribute of District 2 fit that criteria. The girl hadn't waited for a name to be called. Impatient, potentially reckless. Definitely not obedient. She was a threat. She looked dangerously hostile as well. And her wandering eyes definitely did not go unnoticed by Maya. She was looking for someone. Maya could use that knowledge in her favor, somehow she would. The boy was massive, he'd volunteered as well. For someone he knew, apparently. She cocked her to the side, strong, but soft. She saw weakness in the way he walked without confidence, the way he gently grasped the girl's hand. When it was clear she could handle herself. Too soft, possible threat. But she could break him.

Next is District 3. The boy, she struggles to read him, but only slightly. Their escort is very humorous, he works up some laughs and she can see how people are easily drawn to him. His name as well. His wild hand gestures and open smiles draw you in. Maya should know that strategy better than anyone, right?

When the girl's name is called, she appears to have frozen. It takes almost five times for the man to call her before she snaps out of it. She's weak, the girl. Frail, not even quite right in the head really. She looks shy. Perhaps Maya could use her, maybe. She looks too weak, though. And too broken, hurt. Maya doesn't think she can use her after all, she's an option, a last minute resort, for now. The boy, he volunteers for his deaf cousin. The sign language makes that fact clear. He looks calculating, intelligent. But Maya doesn't know if he'd be able to hold his own in a fight. She sighed, that'd be for the games to decided wouldn't it? District 3 is rather unremarkable, her smile drops slightly in dissapointement. What a let down.

She turns towards her District partner as soon as the District four reapings start playing. Hoping to get a glimpse of what he's thinking. He looks concentrated, calculating. She doesn't believe he's doing exactly what she's doing, but something similar along the lines that's for sure. She smirks before turning back towards the screen.

District 4. She doesn't know what to expect. It was one of the Capitol favourites, along with 1 and 2. District 3 having lost that privilege long ago. She wonders, so far the Capitol favourites have had all very strong looking tributes. No doubt perhaps all Capitol favourites for the games as well. (That was until someone found out Midas was a rebel.) Would District 4 join that?

The girl volunteers for 'personal reason'. That is something Maya can look into, hold over her head once she finds out. What reasons for volunteering could you have that didn't let you share it with the public. She looks strong and Maya can tell she's trained in a weapon. Which weapon that is, she doesn't know. The loyalist fought with guns, but the girl, Marrisa, didn't seem to have the proper body for it. Maya would look into that. The boy, Oliver, looked weak. Frail, spindly, but oddly calm. Strange, but of no use to her. He didn't look like the type she could use. She needed someone decent enough, not a walking pencil. He was reaped, he was forgettable at best. She smirked, once she was done, she would never be forgotten.

She smiled, those were the Capitol's favourite districts, it cut off after that. She turned towards Lilith, "Why'd it cut off?" She asked, feigning ignorance and innocence. Lilith smiled softly at her. Maya smirked internally, she had the escort under her thumb. "They were recorded in groups of four, we can watch the others of you'd like?" Lilith seemed hesitant, like she genuinely cared about Maya's opinion. She didn't ask Midas though. Maya looked over at her District partner, who was watching with mild curiosity. When she turned to face him, he simply cocked an eyebrow at her. And offered a shrug.

"No thank you, Ms. Teacup. A little surprise to be mixed in, yes? Should make it more exciting." Maya was confident she would win, she would scope out the competition once she got there. She wasn't lying, the surprise would make it all the more exciting. She heard Midas snort from across the table. Lilith glared at him. Maya smiled at Midas, she already had Lilith that much under her influence. Midas rolled his eyes before standing up. "I'm getting some water. You got any food or something?" He asked, looking around, before meeting Maya's eyes instead of Lilith's. The escort didn't seem to find that all too pleasing. Lilith coughed lightly into her hand.

"Um, yes. But it'd reserved for me and the other Capitol representatives. Loyalists as well." Midas rolled his eyes. Before sitting down. "Would it kill you for just one glass of water?" Came Midas grumbling response. Maya winked at him, which made the boy glare at her slightly, before turning to face Lilith. "What Midas meant was, we're going to need all the energy we can muster for the Capitol press." She smiled sweetly at the older escort. Who smiled, chuckling lightly. "The paparazzi can be a bit draining." She seemed to consider something for a moment before sighing. "Ok, I'll go get you two some water. Be right back." With that, Lilith left the compartment to get some food.

Maya turned towards her rebel companion. "That's how you get some water, Midas-poo." She said, leaning over to pat her companion on the head. Ruffling his blond locks as she did so. Who growled in response. "The hell you just call me?" She rolled her eyes before slumping back into her chair. This was no fun, Midas read her too well, knew her too well. It was like talking to an equal. How terrifying.

* * *

 **District 2**

 **Tributes: Artemis Neverending (F) and Asher Valentine (M)**

 **Escort: Sisabelle Malek (F)**

Asher's District partner scared him, but only a little. She was just so intimidating. While Asher had always been buff but soft, she looked hostile and very, very intimidating. The glares and looks she kept giving him made him extremely uncomfortable. Not that he was going to show it. Asher wasn't an idiot, he knew that showing he was visibly scared of the much smaller girl next to him may not be the best plan.

Because despite not wanting to kill, Asher did want to win. They hadn't talked at all during the ride. Just sat next to one another uncomfortably. Leaving them both to try strategizing, all Asher had come up with was scare away the other tribute. Which he knew he was capable of due to his size. If he just scared them enough during training and maybe the interviews then he should be fine, right? No one would try and mess with him then. All he needed to complete that was a high training score, whatever that meant, he had overheard his escort, Sisabelle, say something about it though, so he was assured that it was important.

He just hoped that none of the tributes realized how soft or opposite his demeanor he was. They hadn't watched the tapes yet, due to his escort seemingly having a hard time finding them. Asher wouldn't deny the fact that he was curious who his competition was.

On the note of allies, Asher would just have to decided once they all met together wouldn't he? At the Capitol. And Asher would be lying if he said he wasn't interested on seeing what the Caoitol was like. Although, it was the least of his concerns. Right now, he just hoped that despite volunteering, he hadn't just signed his own death. Asher was confident, at least slightly, that he could win. He had to win. For Titus, his parents and all of his District. He'd make them all proud, hopefully, they'd be proud even after he became a murderrer.

* * *

 **District 3**

 **Tributes: Zeldan Knightly (F) and Velkan Findlay (M)**

 **Escort: Zamboyang Carzicoiski (M)**

Velkan stared at his District partner. Who was huddled in her own corner of the couch, trying to look as small as possible. He didn't know her, but she acted as if she may know him. Which was very peculiar indeed. He didn't quite understand the vague mumbles his black haired District partner kept saying.

"Um, hi?" He tried, hoping to get a reaction out of her. Evidently it worked. The girl perked up and looked at him, still a bit wary. He gave her a little wave. "Hello." Well, this was progress, she'd talked back. "Wel, um, I'm Velkan. You're Zelda, right?" She nodded, before licking her lips and speaking. "Do you know me?" He shook his head, why? Did she know him. He looked at her, expecting an answer. Instead all the girl did was nod at his response, looking a little pleased. She seemed to one up a little at that.

"I like tech. What about you?" Velkan perked up at the sudden question. He was getting some conversation. "Well, I quite like tinkering around with certain objects, some which you could qualify as tech." She smiled at him, he repeated the action.

Velkan knew that warming up or befriends the competition was a big no. It would make it harder to kill them if it came down to the two of you. But Velkan didn't think it'd be him killing her, the odds were stacked against it. He also doubted it'd end up with them as the final two, once again, the odds. And although he wouldn't say it out loud, he doubted the young girl would last for more than three days. Certainly not long enough for the games to end. So realistically, Velkan doubted that they would even encounter one another during the games. Which was why he had no trouble befriending the younger girl.

At least, now he had no trouble. Plus, it'd be nice to have someone to talk to once they reached the Capitol. He didn't exactly look forward to greeting the other tributes. And he wondered exactly what kind of competition they'd have. Apparently he's find out soon enough, since his mentor had gone to find the tapes on which the reapings had been put onto. He was curious. Very, very curious.

Who exactly was he going up against?

* * *

 **District 4**

 **Tributes: Marisa Zale (F) and Oliver Seadowns (M)**

 **Escort: Regale Casopalvo (M)**

Marrisa stared at her companion. They were playing blackjack. She was currently losing. Which pissed her off extremely. Because she was losing to a fourteen year-old boy. How the hell was she losing!? How the hell was he so good at this. It was kinda based on luck, a little. So how was she losing this badly. She looked at the cards.

She smirked. "Two kings. Beat that!" She was confidently crossing her arms, there was no way he was beating that. Twenty, that was one away from twenty-one. She had this. Finally she'd somehat do something. She had actually lost every single round before this. She looked at the fpsandy-haired fourteen year old. Who seemed a lot more confident now then he had before. He was in his element, just like Marrisa would be the second they stepped Into that arena. "You sure about that, Zale?" He showed a jack and an ace. Twenty-one exactly. "Blackjack." Groaning Marrisa smacked her head onto the table. What the hell was this. Why was the kid so freakishly good at this.

She quirked an eyebrow at the challenge. What's the worst the little guy couldn't on anyways. Besides severely damage her pride, and Marrisa was an extremely prideful person. That's why losing consistently to a fourteen year old boy at blackjack was slightly humiliating. Whatever. Marrisa tried to jot think of this boy as someone she would have to kill. She couldn't think like that. It would wound both him and her. So the kid was goodness or an game of cards, whatever, she wouldn't hesitate to kill him once the games began. She wouldn't be able to win if she did.

As for strategy, Marrisa was relying pretty heavily on her prior skills. She was sure she'd have the best chance. She just really hoped there was a trident somewhere in the cornucopia. A sword would do, but she felt most at home with her trident. She'd already watched all the reapings, no one stood out as a possible threat to her. Maybe the District 2 male. He was giant, damn, what's he do, eat himself. She snorted at her own joke, leading Oliver to look at her funnily. "Hey, Marrisa, how 'bout we take a break for now." She nodded and set to work gathering the cards. She handed the boy back his deck. He smiled.

They'd gotten to know each other slightly. Enough to know that they weren't allying. Neither of them said it out Loud, but the message cut across. If she was allying with anyone it was the District 2 male, if she didn't kill him first. She wondered how Oliver'd fare during the games, obviously not Victor. That was a position Marrisa had made sure to reserve for herself, but she highly doubted he'd get above like seventeenth. She made sure not to say that out loud. The only ones who'd really caught her eyes.

Were the strangely beautiful, model like girl from 1. Like she looked like a freakin' angel, or that she deserved to be on the cover of the latest edition of _Capitol Weekly._ The boy was handsome sure, but looked plain compared to her. That little beauty queen wasn't gonna survive more than a day. Then again, Marrisa had spotted perhaps some underlining muscles under her dress.

Of course there was the big burly boy from District 2, who if you didn't label as a threat, then you were absolutely insane. He looked like he could crush his District partner over his leg. Ooh, bad images.

The small red-headed boy reminded her strangely of home. Weirdly enough. She wasn't sure why, he practically screamed District 5, but she couldn't help but think of her own home of District 4 the second her eyes landed on him. He was also the mayor's son, so there was that. She found out later through her escort, who apparently had just been talking to the District five escort. The mayor had gone to talk to the Caoitol personally, requesting her son be pulled from the games. Her request was denied obviously. Of she didn't think he could handle it, then she'd better be prepared for some gore.

District six, both tributes had been flat out weird. The girl looked crazy and according to their escort, the word was she'd been rigged Into the games. Because of some conspiracy involving rebels and her parents. Interessting, the girl looked kinda insane though, so Marrisa wondered if that was the only rEason. The boy'd had a crazy show of screaming for some Lexi chick, before being beaten and dragged up towards the stage. His hair was also a strange white colour. Ashton's been his name, she thinks.

District 9 and 8 had both out on quite a show. Both the female tribute of eight and nine had completely disrupted the ceremony. During the video the girl had been screaming bloody murder, clutching her head and basically acting insane. Marrisa made a mental note to stray away from her during training.

The boy of District nine had first, well him and his friends, had completely disrespected and insulted the escort. Smart move, bud. His friends and him earning public whippings, not even flinching when his number was upped. Then, when his name was called, he'd attacked his peacekeeper before trying to run. He'd been held at gunpoint before fainting and having to be carried and handcuffed out. Rebel. Definite rebel, someone who was going to pay the second they stepped into the arena. She smirked at the though.

No one else had really intrigued her. The girl and boy from ten seemed to know each other though. Which should be fun to exploit, obviously. Marrisa was a nice person, really, but she wanted to win and she wanted to survive. To that, sometimes you had to play a little dirty.

"So, Oliver, anyone stand out to you?" The young boy looked over. Fiddle with his hands a little before looking Howard's to meet her gaze. "Um, well, there was the really big male from District 2. And the really pretty girl from District 1?" Marrisa smiled at him. Seemed they had common competition, but she imagined those two would stand out to most. "Also, the girl from District 7."

At that, Marrisa gave her District partner a slightly quizzical look. "Who?" Oliver gave her a sheepish smile. "Well, she looked so young, like, maybe twelve at the latest. No way is she surviving more than a day out here." Marrisa looked at the young boy, who seemed honest in the opinion he was presenting. Marrisa gave a curt nod of the head, trying to change the subject. "What about the boy from 9? He sure caused a scene." Oliver nodded. Marrisa didn't like the awkward silence now stretching between the two.

"What about the guy who volunteered for his cousin?" Marrisa prodded, she wanted Oliver's intake of the tributes. It might help, it also was the only thing they had in common besides living in District 4. "Vulcan, right?" Marrisa kept going, Oliver gave her a look when she said his name. "I don't think that was his name." Marrisa shrugged at her District partner's statement.

God, she couldn't imagine killing him. This was going to be torture, she was sure of it. He was so innocent, so young, so talented. And if Marrisa wanted to win, if Marrisa wanted to survive... Well, 23 had to die, right?

* * *

 **District 5**

 **Tributes: Diana Riverton (F) and Christian Powers (M)**

 **Escort: Carlo Gasrtic (M)**

Christian looked at the girl besides him. Wondering if he should talk to her. So far, the two had sat in an uncomfortable silence to be left alone with their thoughts. But now, the silence was getting uncomfortably wrong, and Christian wondered if he should say something. What would he even say anyways? Wanna ally? Who do you think is the biggest threat? Who would you most like to kill? Yeah, he doubted those would go over very well in any circumstance.

They were sitting across from one another. And Christian wondered if she knew that he was the mayor's son. Probably, didn't everyone. It didn't help that after he was reaped, apparently his mom had tried negotiating with the Capitol to get him pulled from the games. Obviously, she was denied. They weren't pulling him from the games, what kind of reputation would that serve. Certainly not the whole take no prisoners thing they had going so far. He wondered what Diana's parents were like, and he almost brought it up, too. But last minute he'd decided against it. When you haven't socialized for like the last ten years of your life, it was hard to get back into the whole swing of things.

But Christian was pretty sure that this Diana girl knew that, yet, he had absolutely no idea about anything to do with her. It was slightly humiliating to be honest. The last thing he wanted her to think was Mayor's son. That no matter what he said, she'd know him as the mayor's son. It was embarrassing. He often preferred people to actually say something to him before he dropped the bomb. Yet, she probably already knew. If the looks she gave him from time to time were anything to go by.

Christian sighed and turned back to face his window. This was going to be a long ride.

* * *

 **District 6**

 **Tributes: Iris Elmswood (F) and Aston Swifte (M)**

 **Escort: Prusilla Pasonova (F)**

Aston stared at the girl who was rigged to be reaped. She didn't look like anything special, not really. But he knew better than to approach the most likely insane girl. Aston mostly just kept to himself. Currently he was bloodied and bruised, but their escort, Prusilla, had promised that once they reached the Capitol that they, he had no idea who 'they' were by the way, would fix him up. He did have to look presentable because if not, oh no, what would the tabloids think.

The blood that had been running down his face was now dried, and his ribs didn't hurt aS much as before. So there was that. Iris still looked as she had at the reapings. Strangely calm, she hadn't uttered a word to him during the whole ride. Unless you counted the strange mumbling she'd do every now and then.

Aston and Iris had already viewed the taping of the reapings, they had to apparently. It would be 'good strategy' according to their escort. Aston couldn't help but flinch away when District 6's came on. He sounded so desperate. Madly screaming 'Lexi!' 'Lexi!'. His escort had said that if he played up that Lexi angle during the interviews or whatever. Then they might actually like him, just a bit. He knew it was the best strategy, he did want to survive this thing despite what anyone might say. He just, damn it, he sounded like such a pansy, anyways, he didn't want to do that to Lexi. Get him?

No, probably not. But their escort did say that no matter what, he would most likely be the favourite out of him and Iris. But, being compared to some crazy chick, wasn't exactly his idea of an accomplishment. He just had to hope that they liked the whole 'unrequited love' bit his escort had prepared for him. Yeah already, apparently, they were really serious about this thing. Whatever, he would make Lexi proud. No matter what. He just hoped that he was a better actor than whatever the hell he'd played up with Lexi. Because obviously, that had failed.

* * *

 **District 7**

 **Tributes: Veronica Delayney (F) and Oakley Axemoore (M)**

 **Escort: Lovinska Von Heckilebeurg (F)**

Oakley had left Veronica back in their cart, using the I have to go to the bathroom excuse. The young girl didn't question it, so there was that. He remembered their escort saying car two at the reapings, he hadn't understood it, that was until he stepped into the train car and saw the big blocky number two hanging off one of the doors. They'd been led to car six, much to Oakley's displeasure. But now he's gotten up to go to the car. Hoping to see their escort there.

He maneuvered through the train, the lack of staff unnerving him greatly. Why was it so damn empty? Once he finally did reach the door, he found it to be open. Strange, very strange indeed. His escort, Lovinska, had brought them the tapes with the reapings recorded onto them to slip into the holographic machine, which was what Veronica was currently watching. Oakley didn't mind missing a few tributes, since he would se them once they reached the Capitol anyways.

He slowly pushed open the door just a little more, so that he had enough room to get into the place without touching the door itself. "Hello." He called out, relatively softly, this place gave him the creeps, sue him. "Hello." This time a little louder. Suddenly a figure emerged from the back, Oakley bit his tongue to avoid screaming. What came out instead was an awkward squeak on his part.

"Oakley. Hello." He sees Lovinska, still dressed in al purple, looking a lot more relaxed than she had before. He raises an eyebrow in question, before instinctively looking over his shoulder. "Why'd you ask me to come here?" He questions, looking back once more over his shoulder. Afraid of being caught he supposes. She gave him a sheepish smile.

"Is it bad that I don't want to keep my problems to myself anymore?" Okaley immediately sinks, great. So this'll be just like home. People coming to him for help, and of course he bestows it upon them. But he forces a smile, "No, it's fine to want to get things off your chest." Lovinska's smile falters slightly. "Ok, but listen, the only reason I'm telling you this is because this secret is one I'm supposed to be taking to the grave." Her smile is long gone by the time she finishes that sentence, she looks so serious. Oakley reaches back and closes the door.

"Got it." He nods to reassure her. She shakes her head. "I'm serious Oakley. But someone needs to know. I need you to win, ok? Someone needs to tell the world what the Capitol's doing." Oakley nods, suddenly a lot more self aware than before.

She takes a deep breath. "I've been told you're the District's resident secret's guy. People tell you things and you don't blab, correct?" He nods, "Good. Well here it is. Rebels. They choose rebels. Rebels as the escorts. And for every year, our tributes don't win, we get punished. We already have been." She glances to the left before pulling up her sleeve. A long gash is prominent upon it. Ugly, deep, jagged, and Oakley has to look away. Umcomfortable with the sight. "For every year, our tribute doesn't win, the punishments just get worse. Once you win, you need to tell the District, you'll be a figure once you win. A victor, they'll look up to you. They'll listen. Please, you have to win."

Oakley nods, "Ok." Lovinska takes a deep breath. "You may leave now, Oakley." He nods again. Suddenly feeling the weight of her words on his shoulders. Knowing he can't win these games, that he doesn't want to win these games. He doesn't want to kill. But her words weigh him down and they scare him. The weight of everything he stands for, golden boy, secret keeper, perfect Victor. He knows that the second he steps into that arena, all the masks drop. And for once, the world is gonna see the real Oakley.

* * *

 **District 8**

 **Tributes: Rosemary Finch (F) and Thread Flynn (M)**

 **Escort: Jordan Yukin (M)**

Thread looked at Rosemary. The girl who'd been stopping by the rebel refugee camp. This was going to be very awkward, he was sure of it. Thread loved giving food to those who'd lost so much that they couldn't live on their own. But now the people he'd helped were now trying to kill him, at least one of them was. There was a reason they hadn't spoken to one another. At least, not yet.

Their awkward silence had been siftly broken just then by their escort. "Hello." Thread said to them, trying to be polite. They gave him a smile. "Hello to you, too. Anyways, have you two reviewed the reaping footages?" The tributes nodded. Their escort clasped their hands together. "Excellent, anyone stand out to you? Allies? Threats?" He saw Rosemary seeming to be contemplating something, before speaking up.

"I liked the girl from eleven, who volunteered for her friend." Jordan, their escort, nodded at this. "Then maybe you could try allying with her, though don't expect her to agree." Rosemary nodded vigorously, "Got it." Mr. Yukin seemed to smile at that. "But remeber, if she doesn't have anything useful to offer the alliance, then don't do it." Rosemary nodded again. Siddenly Jordan snapped his fingers as if just realizing something. "Have you two considered allying with each other?" He pointed a finger at each of them, before crossing them over one another. As if the fingers represented them, and this was his way of displaying his words. And there was the question. Both tributes seemed to shrink into themselves, not wanting to speak. "I'll take that as a no." Came Jordan reply, moments after the silence had settled in.

"Anyways, what about you, Thread?" Jordan seemed quick to change the subject. Thread thought about it for a moment. Was there actually anyone from the videos he's seen that he'd want to ally with? As for threats, well, there were a whole lot of 'em.

"The girl from ten looked oddly strong." At this, his mentor gave him a strange look. "Did you say ten? Because she's just a pretty face really, Thread. Not much of a threat there." He shrugged in response to his mentor's response, he'd though the girl's looked strong. "Speaking of threats," Rosemary piped up, " The boy from two was massive!" She exclaimed, wildly gesturing as if trying to demonstrate just how huge he was from hand motions. Their escort chuckled at that.

And Thread could visibly feel his escort picking a favourite.

* * *

 **District 9**

 **Tributes: Leilani Tareyn (F) and Holls Pobarr (M)**

 **Escort: Sylvia Silvertongue (F)**

"So, threat?" Leilani stated, towards her partner. The boy in question shrugged, his arm and most of his body wrapped up. They said they'd heal him once they reached the Capitol. But the boy still looked to be in a lot more pain then he let on. "I mean, the dude from two is massive, but I don't know, I'm just not feeling it, you get me?" Leilani nodded, choosing to ignore just how bad the boy's English was. "I got that vibe from him, too. So not a threat?"

Hollis nodded, "Not a threat. Unless you pick a fist fight with him he doesn't seem like the type to go after you, you know?" She quickly crossed his name off of their list, so far, they'd crossed out the boy from 1 and now the boy from 2. Keeping both girls from their respective Districts. "So Zelda, threat?" Hollis snorted, like actually snorted.

"Her? Are you kidding me? No threat." Leilani let out a loose chuckle at that as well. She quickly crossed off the girl's name. She looked up at her partner. "Velkan? And him?" Hollis bit his lip, seeming to consider it. "I don't know, what do you think?" She raised her pencil, before bringing it back down. "Threat, he seems smart. Also, due to him volunteering, he might become a favourite." Hollis nodded at that.

Hollis and Leilani weren't allies, per se. They'd just agreed not to kill one another before the final two. Leilani had a grudging respect for the boy, and after Hollis found out she wasn't loyalist and exactly how cunning she was, he had agreed as well. So they wouldn't help one another, but they would let the other live if they encountered one another in the arena. Which seemed like a solid plan to her. Currently they were discussing who were threats, their escort nowhere to be found considering she hated Hollis, and would avoid him at all cost. But hey, less weirdo Capitol people the better.

"Marrisa, threat?" Hollis scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "She looked strong, definitely had some muscles on her. But arrogant, that's what's gonna get her killed. So, semi threat?" Leilani have him a look, one of quizzical thinking and bewilderment, some amusement thrown into the mix as well. "She did seem arrogant. Too cocky." Hollis nodded, though Leilani still slightly doubted the title given of 'semi-threat'. But Leilani scribbled in 'semi-threat' messily next to Marrisa's name anyways.

"Oliver? Wait, let me guess. No threat, right?" Hollis nodded, "yep." So Leilani scratched off his name and continued on. "What about Diana? She looked strong didn't she?" Hollis nodded, "Yeah she did, but I don't know if she's the strongest emotionally. Pretty sure I saw some scars." Leilani cocked an eyebrow at him, "So she cuts?" Hollis nodded, biting his top lip weirdly. "Okay then, not a threat." Leilani stated, before crossing her name off of the list.

"Who's next? Oh, mayor's boy. Threat?" Hollis had been looking over his shoulder, and it'd been him who's spoken. Turns out Capitol citizens liked to gossip, and word that Christan was the mayor's son had spread like wildfire. Apparently his mom had tried to pull him from the games. "Too weak," the girl started, "So not a threat." She continued as she scratched his name off of the list.

"District six. Iris?" Hollis shook his head, "Girl isn't right in the head, she is not surviving a day out here." Leilani nodded, "agreed." She crossed the red-head off of the list. "What about her District partner? Blondie, who caused almost a big a scene as you." Hollis laughed. "Threat." He didn't elaborate on the statement, so she didn't press.

"What about Veronica? Threat?" Hollis gave her a strange look. "The little twelve year old? She'll be Dead before sundown." Leilani shrugged, "True enough." So she crossed out the little girl's name. Not feeling the slightest bit remorseful after what Hollis had said anyways. It was true, no need to be an unrealistic optimist. "What about Oakley?" Hollis snorted, "Pretty boy? He's good looking, his strengths end there." Leilani nodded, strangely, her and Hollis seemed to mutually agree with the one another on most of their opinions. "True enough, what about Rosemary? Threat?" Leilani asked, while scribbling out Rosemary's name.

Hollis let out a chuckle. "Crazy PTSD girl? What do you think?" Leilani started crossing out Rosemary's name, "I agree. Not a threat. She'd probably freak out too much to actually be able to kill someone." Brushing blonde hair over her shoulder as she did so.

"Who's next?" The rebel asked, glancing over Leilani's shoulder. "Her District partner, Thread." Was the blonde's reply. Hollis shook his head, giving her an incredulous look. "Have you seen the boy?" Leilani smirked, "That's what I thought you'd say." And she got busy scratching out his name.

"District 10, Haizea. Threat?" Hollis shrugged, "She's just another pretty face, I think." Leilani nodded, silently agreeing with the boy. She crossed out Haizea's name, "Her partner isn't a threat either. He's like a walking pencil." Came Hollis steady continuation of his past statement. Leilani moved swiftly on to cross out Buck's name.

"Sparrow, threat?" Hollis nodded, "She's got some muscle, and she's a volunteer. She might be a Capitol favourite." Leilani brushed some hair from her face. "Good point, okay, so threat?" Hollis nodded. "And her partner, Thorn?" Leilani questioned.

"What do you think I'm gonna say?" Leilani sighed, before replying. "No threat?" Hollis smirked, "Good job, young grasshopper. I see you're finally catching on." Leilani brushed off his arm, which had been in the middle of patting her on the back, rolling her eyes at his immaturity. "Alarik? What about him?" Hollis bit his lip, "I dunno, you?" She looked at his name, remembering the ceremony. "No threat, nothing remarkable, minus maybe a few muscles peeking out." Hollis nodded in agreement, "Ok, cross his name out." So she did.

"And his partner? Lilith?" Hollis shook his head, that was all she needed. The District 12 female hadn't looked like much, nor had she looked completely stable. She crossed out Lilith's name. The little thirteen year old was definitely not a threat to her or Hollis.

"So, on our list of threats, we have; Maya (D1), Artemis (D2), Velkan (D3), Marrisa (D4) (Semi-threat), Aston (D6), Sparow (D11). Great." She reached out for a high-five, after a moment's hesitation, surpringly Hollis returned it.

* * *

 **District 10**

 **Tributes: Haizea Lobo (F) and Buck Chandler (M)**

 **Escort: Lukas Myth (M)** _(Turns out I forgot to give him a name.)_

Buck didn't know what to do. He was nervous and scared. Add onto the fact that Haizea was his District partner. One half of his friends. And either she'd kill him, or he'd have to kill her. Which he was pretty sure wasn't happening. There was no way Buck was surviving a day out here.

Not when there were Haizea and Asher's just prancing about. What was he going to do? He subconsciously glanced over at Haizea, who seemed to be off in her own little world. Presumably think I about the other tributes, they had just viewed the tapes. Asher looked scary, so did his District partner. He forgot her name, Anna? Allison? Something to do with an 'A' he was certain.

He wondered how the games would go, if he'd get any allies. He hoped so, though he dogged anyone would really want to ally with him, so there was always that cheerful thought. And Haizea was way too good that to downgrade to allying with something like him. He'd just be dead weight.

How he wished it wasn't Haizea who'd been chosen, it just made the games that much harder. And he was not excited, nor was he pleased. Not even in the slightest. He just wanted to go home. And he'd left Ralphie on such a sour note too. Great, now the last memory his best friend would have of him would be Buck screaming at him that what he'd done was wrong and that he was basically a criminal.

He felt like crying, but he didn't want to do that in front of Haizea. She was strong, she barely even looked flustered at the moment. He would do the same, if he wanted anyone to even look at him twice, other than just dead meat.

* * *

 **District 11**

 **Tributes: Sparow Blackmore (F) and Tjorn Willows (M)**

 **Escort: Deduc Harmony (M)**

Sparrow hoped that once she got to the Capitol, someone would be able to disinfect and heal her back. Because right now it was killing her more than ever. Her District partner Thorn looked relatively calm, save for his slightly bloodshot eyes. When he'd started crying she'd decided it'd be best if she didn't comment on it. Because she wanted to do the same.

How the hell was Sage going to survive now. If Sparrow died, not only was she herself dead, but so was Sage. Sage who couldn't afford her own food, and she was sure as hell that nobody was going to give her some of theirs. Because that's just how the world worked wasn't it? She gets randomly selected for some death games (volunteered more like it) and now not only was she dying. So was Sage.

Now all she had to do was win, as long as she won, not only would her and Sage win the prize, but they'd be honoured. Treated like queens, that was the life Sage deserved, and that was the Life Sparrow was planning on giving to her.

In the eyes of Sparrow, her District partner wasn't much. She was sure she'd seen him around before, but never fully interacted with him. At least, she thought so. He had some muscle on him, and Sparrow wondered if she should ask him to ally. So far, all they'd done was sit next to one another, no other further interactions. She kept thinking she should say something, but then didn't. She guessed she was still partially in shock, but still, she didn't even know what to say.

Ugh. She simply turned her back towards him. And she started to think. They'd already been shown the tapes. Sparrow hadn't seen any potential allies, so she guessed she'd find out for sure once they reached the Capitol. Sparrow knew sleeping probably wasn't the best idea, but she sure as hell didn't care.

She closed her eyes and hoped, that for a few hours, her life wouldn't be a walking hell.

* * *

 **District 12**

 **Tributes: Lilith Cadow (F) and Alarik Dayne (M)**

 **Escort: Maia Lucarcy (F)**

Alarik felt like he should approach Lilith. Sure she was crazy, but he did feel bad. People not caring even in the slightest that she was being shipped off to her death must've hurt, he didn't really know how to approach her though. He'd tried, but either she didn't hear him or didn't care. She just kept starring and mumbling half comprehensible words. Sometimes she'd look up, look around, then slump back down to her original position.

He'd tried slightly nudging her to see if she'd react but nothing. Halfway through he'd semi just given up. She was impossible, but he still did feel bad. It was more pity, because he was pretty sure not a single person expected her to survive more than a day. They didn't have a lot of informations right now on the topic of the games, but with what he was pretty sure he knew, Lilith wasn't going to survive.

He'd overheard his escort saying something, so he did have some clues as to what the games might Be like, but didn't want to say it out loud and jinx it. Also, no matter how much he pitied or felt bad for Lilith, he wasn't going to tell her things that may help her win. Call him heartless, he was just playing strategy.

Him and Lilith and already watched the tributes tales, though he doubted she was even paying attention. Alarik was planning on going it solo, but he wasn't so sure now after seeing the competition. Big burly males from Capitol favourite Districts. Cunning, snake like tributes. Who looked like they'd poison your water or stab you in the back. Strangely gorgeous girls, that looked a lot more dangerous than they let on.

Yeah, Alarik was starting to wonder if he might need an ally to survive. He doubted that all of the other tributes were going to ally, but certainly it would help? Unless they killed you in your sleep, or betrayed you in any shape or form. Like stole your supplies, oh great, now he was doubting the ally plan once again. Maybe he'd just wing it, he'd meet them, and if anyone asked, he'd ally. If not, he was sure he could win without one. Right?

He'd already discussed strategy with their escort. She didn't have the most helpful advice. He doubted she was all that qualified. Lilithnhad just sat there, Alarik wasn't even sure if the young girl had even been paying attention at all. Their escort had tried engagin Lilith into the conversation, but she too did not succeed in ways she's hoped to do so. Alarik just really wanted this to end.

His escort had given him some food to eat, nothing special, apparently he wasn't loyalist a enough to get the good stuff. Which was extremely unfair in the young boy's point of view. He was neutral, not a rebel, but they insisted on treating him like one. Lilith was a loyalist though, so of course she'd received some nice gourmet food, which she hadn't even touched yet. Alarik sighed, this was going to be a long ride.

* * *

 **Maya got the really long pov because I robbed her of her chance at a reaction chapter or a reaping chapter. Also, some tributes got a longer pov because I felt like it. Literally no other reason, but trust me this isn't tribute favourism. Just over the next few chapter, (a) certain** **tribute(s) will get a longer povs than most, ok?**

 **Also I haven't done this yet, but thank you to everyone who's reviewed, followed and favourited this story. Haven't said it yet, so I thought I would now.**


	33. Chariot Parade

**Maya Spencer (D1 and D2 Chariot)**

Maya was slowly growing more and more irritated. She smiled on the outside, yes, but no one was watching. Which was infuriating. Right now, she was painted in gold, Broken crystals and jewels stuck to her, she looked absolutely dazzling. Her hair was in a high bun and was dyed, which would come out by afternoon, a gold. Midas was wearing something very similar, practically the same thing as she herself. Which she had to smirk at when he first exited to come and meet her at their chariot.

He looked about ready to strangle her, which she could smile at. At taunting, daring smirk. Which dared him to do something about it, in the end, he'd just grumbled something illegible towards Maya and stalked off to go talk to someone. She'd merely brushed it off, because Midas pouting certainly wasn't going to throw her off her game, no matter how infuriating. The busty girl from District 10 was.

Maya loved the spotlight, lived in it. It was what kept her in power all those years now wasn't it? The thing was, that same spotlight was now not on her, but that girl. Haizea Lobo, age 18, District 10. She'd learned this from Midas, he'd learned it from some boy named Hollis apparently. She'd made the conscious decision to not rewatched the tapes containing the reapings following the four Capitol favourites. She now wished she had, because this girl was a threat. Maya was counting on her own, Maya's, pure attractiveness to pull in sponsors, but apparent the sex appeal wasn't quite focused on her. It was on that dammed girl from ten.

The girl looked mildly uncomfortable, even though Maya would have worn that with pride. A skimpy cowgirl like cheerleading outfit. Revealing a lot of skin, especially the high skirt and shirt. Or low at the top, revealing as much chest as it could, and high at the bottom, revealing as much stomach as possible. Maya wouldn't have minded so muCh if this girl wasn't gorgeous. They hadn't even boarded their chariots yet and already all the attention was focused on her, Haizea. Which irked her to no end, she just really wanted to board the chariot now, which she would be sharing with, not only Midas, but the District 2 tributes as well. Which was infuriating, because from what she'd seen of both so far, they would be a handful.

Artemis, District 2, age 18, was a threat. She spent all of her time getting the final touches on her outfit fixed, a simple gladiator's ensemble, golden helmet and breastplate to accompany it. Maya was certain that their chariot would glow, from her and Midas being painted and sprinkled in gold, and them wearing heaps of it on top as well, they would certainly be a lot of gold to go around. Which Maya found fitting, after all, Midas' name did come from the man who, everything he touched turned to gold.

If only his namesake had carried on into Midas life. Maybe then Maya would never have had to deal with the infuriating rebel. No mattress own much he relieved her of her otherwise mundane and boring life, because he was exciting and he could read her. Slough annoying at times, made her life interessting, because he made it so that she didn't always get her way. He presented her with a challenge that she was going to dominate and she wanted to see the look me no his face as she did.

Her Capitol prep team, the one's who'd gotten everyone ready, each tribute had their own, had complimented her on her natural beauty. How nothing needed changing really, and Maya took pride in that. Because she knew she was gorgeous, but having others enforce that idea felt good. They were the ones who made sure her hair was perfect, and Artemis' team was currently straightening out and polishing certain aspects of her costume.

The older girl stood, arms outstretched, while her breastplate was being adjusted. Her helmet shined, she was looking up, seizing the crowd. Maya's remained stuck up against her own chariot, doing as the other girl was, looking at competition deciding who needed to go as soon as possible. Their eyes briefly met in competition, before both girls turned away, eyes glinting in the lust for each other's blood to be spilt. Maya grinned, but only slightly, barely visible to anyone in the facility, but still there. Midas was busy, he wouldn't be able to read and expose her, so she had Liberty to do whatever she pleased without the fear, the excitement of being read. Of being known.

Where was the fun if she couldn't prove anything, if she couldn't url the rebel she seems to have based her life around. No. It was the other way around. He had based his life off of her. Maya considered this for a moment, what were the rebel's thoughts on the matter? Did he believe himself to be the hero, did he believe himself to be Good? As Maya believed herself to be? Maya smirked, they really were two faces of the same coin weren't they?

Asher on the other hand seemed to be talking to some girl. Maya wasn't sure who exactly, but she had dark hair, and seemed very suspicious of the boy next to her. She was wearing some sort of power plant worker thing, and it covered almost all of her skin. Save for the head, where she wore a white helmet. That certainly wasn't going in her any sponsors, was the only thing Maya seemed to be able to take in from the situation. She shook her head, and numbly chuckled to herself, only loud enough for herself to hear.

Anyways, leaning up against the chariot she watched. Watched her competition, she recognized the tributes from four. Who were talking to one another, but in hushed whispers and prolonged pauses. They seemed to tolerate each other at best, and Maya couldn't help but roll her eyes. How boring. Life needed some excitement, this certainly wasn't it. Not the kind of excitement he could give her, with glares and rivalries and hurt and- and everything. Midas turned her mundane life into something exciting. Pity she'd have to end their excitement by killing him. No matter, after the boy's death she'd work for the Capitol and she'd never be bored then. Midas or not.

She Watched as Midas talked rapidly to some rebel she assumed his name to be Hollis, according to the blond boy that was her District partner. Maya smiled, something of nightmares, she'd kill them both. Two dead rebels was better than one, and this way, she could do all in the time span of less than an hour. She hoped they all knew she really did.

She kept staring, why she didn't know, something about Midas had always drawn her in, made her curious. The blond boy, seemingly feeling eyes on him, turned, forcing the other boy he'd been speaking to to turn as well. Suddenly she was facing two rebels, Midas, who's face was an even, calm look, of pure and utter hatred, and Hollis' gaze, which was curious. Curious and intrigued, his eyes flickered towards Midas, and then to her, before smirking slightly waiting to see how it played out. Maya wouldn't even give him the light of day, her gaze to our I used on something else.

Maya simply smiled deviously and turned away, she wasn't giving either of them the sense that she cared, even if both District 1 tributes knew this fact to be false. Because Maya didn't care. She wasn't here to take down anyone, besides Midas. Winning the games after that would be simple, if she could bring down Hollis as well, then that was even better. Maya didn't care, as long as the blood of rebels was spilt before long, because she wasn't sure how long she could last Without seeing the Crimson liquid and knowing that finally a rebel was dead, finally they were gone. And that would be ultimate satisfaction.

Her chariot would be out first, followed by District 3 and 4's. They were currently not visible to the public, last minute changes and last minute interactions made quickly before they were scheduled to leave. She grit her teeth, just a little longer and little miss cowgirl would be dead at her feet. She couldn't wait to see that pretty little face of her ruined, permanently. And then of course Midas, who would suffer anything worse than whateve she'd do to miss Little Cowgirl. And cowgirl would suffer a whole lot, Midas just that much more.

Because he deserved every single bit of punishment she threw at him, Midas deserved it all.

 **Artemis Neverending**

Artemis observes, it is what she does best. She listens and she seizes up her competition, this time in person. Nobody tries approaching her, her body giving off a hostile vibe to anyone who steps too close. Her costume is being adjusted and she waits. Waits for something to happen.

She sees the little girl from seven, talking with her District partner, looking scared and she thinks that she can sees tears on the young brunette. Artemis resists the urge to scoff. That girl is weak, she will not last. Artemis will make sure of it. The boy she's talking to looks distant, his eyes glazed over and Artemis can only imagine that he too is weak. There is no room for the weak, life has made that adamant fact clear.

She feels a sharp tug and her hair is being pinned up, in a tight bun revealing her face. Poised and stoic, not leaving any room for anyone to read her properly. For anyone To see that little girl begging for her brother's love. She hears her prep team mumble a sorry, before quickly resuming their work. When she'd entered the room full of the prep team of little Capitolites, they'd immediately shrieked. Covering their mouths. Told her she too much of a boyish face, too much muscle to ever be considered beautiful. Through it Artemis had remained poised, not letting their words get to her.

No one at home would have had the guts to tell her that, but she wasn't home. And that thought brings Artemis standing back into reality. And she's no longer in the prep teams' room, but about to enter the chariot races. And for the first time since volunteering, Artemis regrets it. The thought comes like lightning and leaves just as quickly. Artemis straightens herself out, her little outburst would've been visible to anyone who'd been paying close enough attention. If she is lucky no one noticed, unfortunately, when has Artemis ever been lucky.

She looks up, a pair of dazzling, malicious hazel eyes stare back, glinting. And suddenly Artemis is scared. Because those eyes, they aren't human, they aren't. And she starts to think, before she meets the face of whom the eyes belong. It's the girl from District 1, Maya Spencer. Their eyes had met before, a brief challenge. But now, the girl, Maya, has seen her fear, seen her weakness and Artemis knows that the girl will use it. Use it to win.

Artemis is not blind, she can practically feel the tension rolling off the District 1 tributes when they speak. And she does not want to get caught up in that. The more enemies she has, and strong enemies too, the more likely she is to die. The more likely she is to never get the revenge she so desperately craves. That she needs. And she glares at the girl, who simply smirks before turning her gaze elsewhere. Artemis follows this gaze to Christian Powers, the mayor's son, District 5.

Artemis looks at him, he is nothing special, some scrawny child. And mayor's son is what she uses to describe him perfectly. He is not skinny, his rib cage not showing. He looks healthy, he looks young. His eyes do not hold the pain she has grown so used to. And suddenly she is angry with him. Angry that he's had such a wonderful life when she's been force to live like some sort of animal. Unwanted.

Certainly not worth enough to be demanded to be pulled from the games. By his mother. She is envious of his fortune. Envious of the life he's lived. And suddenly Artemis decides that she wants to kill him. She wants him dead at her feet. And she vows that it will be by her hand, that this little boy dies. Until his blood blends into his equally red hair and he just looks like _red_. And Artemis has the adaucity to smile at the thought.

She can imagine Apollo at her feet instead and suddenly the image shifts. And it is Apollo who Artemis is killing and she likes to think to herself, she likes to imagine herself telling him, "You did this. Look what you created. Look!" She can imagine herself stabbing him with envy word she utters and Artemis can imagine the sanity slipping through her veins as she thinks, as her thought goes gradually into more and more details. Artemis realizes that she's always been a little mad, but this is absolutely crossing boundaries. But Artemis _doesn't even care_. Because why should she when Apoolo obviously didn't. When no one ever did, why should she be forced to return the favour? Artemis finds herself asking this question as she slips further and further down.

"Into your chariots. Tributes."

Artemis turns, pretending that she does not feel the gaze of a certain hazel eyed tribute. Watching her curiously as she, Artemis, smiles. As Artemis smiles for all the wrong reasons. Smiles at the thought of a dead boy. Smiles at the thought of Apollo watching. And suddenly, Artemis cares a lot more about her twin in that moment, then _he_ ever has his whole life.

Artemis steadily makes her way towards the chariot, grinning all the way. Her bronze gladiator suit, never seeming more fitting.

* * *

 **Zelda Knightly** **(D3 and D4 Chariot)**

Zelda shivers as she crowds the chariot made to accommodate the four of them. Her, Velkan, Oliver and Marrisa. Her outfit is stunning, thousands of gears moving and roaming her plain black armour. They slide in and out of one another, but they are constantly moving. She is still scared, and still cold though. Her armour is not very insulated and Zelda is scared of what _they'll_ think. Of the Words _they'll_ say. And suddenly it is not just the cold that is making her shiver so. She is the first one in the chariot.

She lends her hand to Velkan who steadily clambers in after her. He gives her a small smile in thanks, and he almost speaks. Cut off only by the sound of someone slipping. He District three tribute show turn to see the small boy from District four, trip and miss the steps. His hands flailing to catch himself, his coral crown slipping off his head as gravity pulls him slowly downwards. It'd as if she watches in slow motion and Zelda is unnerved. Velkan goes to help him, but is beat to it by the small boy's District partner.

"You good, Oliver?" The black haired girl asks, just a small amount of concern in her voice, just barely, but Zelda can hear it clear as day. Marrisa is getting attached, and even Zelda knows that this is wrong. This is the worst. She's made an effort to not like Velkan, but the boy has an aura to him. Making her think differently, perhaps it's because his words are just that much kinder. No matter, Marrisa is getting attached. And even though Zelda does not want to sound insane, she thinks she can use this to her advantage.

The pale boy, Oliver, nods, before shakily stepping onto the chariot. Supported by Velkan's hand. No words are passed between the two, they remain not facing the other. And Zelda knows that this is the right thing to do. Marrisa jumps over the first two steps, landing straight onto the chariot. She flashes a smile to herself, looking just slightly arrogant. Zelda can decided that she doesn't lIke Marrisa. And Marrisa takes one look at her, and Zelda can feel Marrisa come to the same conclusion.

The black haired girl is strong, and muscled. Zelda is starved and frail. With hollow eyes and uneven hair. Her eyes a pure green that is terrifying to anyone who gets to close. The look of insanity that is captured in a single glance unnerves most. And makes more hate her. Zelda can feel Marrisa's words, just wanting to be said, but not. And the Words that are left unsaid start to invade Zelda's brain, and suddenly she wants to hurl, but she can't, she doesn't. Instead she turns her gaze to where the large garage like door will open, revealing them to the public. Revealing them to the Capitolites.

Zelda gazes at the girls outfit. She is dressed as a Godess, so is Oliver. A crown of coral sits upon their heads. Long togas curl around their bodies, so Zelda can assume they're Roman. A trident rest comfortably in both of their hands, perhaps too comfortably in Marrisa. Oliver's is actually dented slightly from his fall, and the middle spear rest crooked on the stick. Zelda does not comment. Wave like patterns are strewed across the bottom and they look vibrant and colourful, mixing all shades of blue, green and white, next to Zelda and Velkan's overall greys, browns and blacks.

No matter. Zelda had not observed the competition, instead she'd stayed in her own little world during prep. Now, she wished she'd looked harder. She didn't want any surprises. No surprise Words jumping out to hurt her. No surprise attacks, coming at her from behind. The reality of her life now can set in fully, and Zelda is scared as to what this entails. She hears a shout and suddenly, the doors open. Revealing a blinding light to cast onto the chariots. She sees the District one tributes painted gold, their bodies look like statues, sprinkled in jewels. The light reflects these into patterns across the stadium, and Zelda has to look away.

She can feel the familiar panic rising in her chest, she can feel it consuming her, eating her alive and Zelda is scared and she is nervous and she just wants this all to end and she doesn't know how to end it properly and Zeldais freaking out and she thinks that-

She can feel it-

Zelda can sense it, she can Hear it-

Zelda is scared and panicking and freak in out and unsure and-

Her senses are overloading and she's not sure what's this and what's that and know she-

District 1 and 2's chariot is moving, and Zelda's is not very far behind. She steadies herself on the railing attached. The sudden change in speeds making her feel stunned and shocked monetarily and she breathes out calmly. She braces herself for the words. But they're drowned out by the pounding voices in her head.

 **Oliver Seadowns**

Oliver blinked twice, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden light. Marrisa shoots him a glance, Oliver can read it. A glance of concern. And Oliver knows she's getting attached. And Oliver hates himself for feeling attached too. Playing games like Poker have taught him to read people, he has never been more regretful of this skill. Ignorance is bliss and he does not want to know what everyone is feeling. He does not want to know exactly how crazy the girl from three is, if her eyes are anything to go by. He does not want to know what that boy from six thought of him. He didn't want any of that.

He can hear screaming, he catches a name, "Maya! Marry me!" That's when he decides to tune out their ramblings and screeches. The voices now all seeming to blend together. His head pouncs from the lights, from the sounds, but he doesn't let this show, he waves and smiles, like rehearsed. He can see the boy from two's back, he looks uncomfortable with his company.

The two females stand next to one another. Tension rolling off their spines, they refuse to look at the other, yet still seem to know. He sees one of them lean in, blonde hair sweeping her face, and whisper. The other just smiles, and that's when Oliver starts to get confused. It is only broken by the boy from 1 whispering something to the girl next to him, brown hair, and she tenses up immediately. The opposite reaction held when the other female had spoke to her. Immediately he can see her posture straightening, then it was as if none of it had happened at all. The three resumed their smiling and waving. He can see Maya blowing kisses and winking.

He turns his head. He'd spent most of his time talking with Marrisa, conversing with the older girl. They'd discussed strategy and who looked like danger. Marrisa had brought up the boy from two, even if he had the tough exterior, Oliver could see the kindness in his eye. He didn't mention this to Marrisa. Letting her believe that the boy from two was indeed a threat. He'd felt guilty immediately after, but he knew how to play the game.

This was just like cards, it didn't matter if you had the best hand in the world or the worst, it was how you played it. You needed to know your opponents and yourself, and then you needed strategy. Telling Marrisa the boy's true demeanour would diminish his chances of survival, and he hated himself for it. But these were the Hunger Games, they weren't just some game of poker.

He wished Casimir was with him _right now_ , because he could certainly use the level headed boy at his disposal _right now_. He needed someone to calm him down, he'd never liked crowds and this was the biggest he'd faced by far. Preferring instead to hide behind his cards. Not just some fourth grade classroom filled with judgmental little children, these people's opinions could mean life or deat depending on the cards he played. And he really needed his best friend's help. He needed some support, urgently. And Casimir would be the one to help him with just that.

Instead he focused on the task at hand, smiling and waving, which was suddenly seeming a lot harder. His smile started slipping and his wave lost its begging enthusiasm. He wished he'd gotten a cooler costume. The toga was heavy and the crown sat awkwardly on his head. The only thing his trident had done was distract him from catching himself when falling and the colours clashed with his hair. He'd wanted something cool, like the District three male's switching gears, or the district two male's gladiator costume. Oliver knew he didn't have it the worst, some might even like his costume.

At least it wasn't the strange tire costume the District six tributes were sporting. Or that cowgirl outfit the girl from ten was wearing, Oliver had looked away calmly, never having been more glad he had a good poker face. He saw the other male sharing the chariot didn't seem very phased, besides the light blush, barely visible, gracing his cheeks.

Even so, Oliver was still scared, because now the games felt real. Realer than ever, because here he was, and he wasn't just facing just four of three Capitol citizens, he was facing hundreds, thousands. But his poker face remained and Oliver just kept on smiling and waving.

* * *

 **Diana Riverton (D5 and D6 Chariot)**

Diana scratched at her neck nervously. Happy that her costume covered her arms, but still self conscious of them. She was so glad that she hadn't gotten something like the girl from ten. Who's shirt was just too low and too high at the same time. When she'd told this to Christian, before the chariot race, he'd glanced at the girl, before whipped back around blushing rather violently. She could barely see where hair began and blush ended. The Reds all mingling together on the mess that was Christian Powers. Diana had smiled at that. And had teased him despite his awkward stutters. She would admit the girl was pretty, gorgeous even, but Diana found herself preferring June's subtle beauty.

Her hair was covered by an angry white helmet, Christian's being the same, despite the fact that it was just slightly too big for the boy's headend she could see red peaking out the sides. Her dreadlocks had been tied up in a tight pony tail, and she kept itching to tie them out. They hurt, Tied just that little bit too tight. And her scars itched, they itched for sure. Itched to be free, because the fabric was hurting them.

She kept smiling though, and waved whenever someone called her name. Making sure to try and catch their eye. She certainly wasn't as popular as the some of the others. People screaming things like, "Marry me!" Towards the girl from one. Slurs towards the girl from ten. She even heard someone scream to the boy from two, Asher, who she'd talked to previously, "Kill them! Bash their heads in!" She'd turned away awkwardly at that. Because it certainly was an intimidating thought.

Diana just wished that the chariot would swallow her whole, honestly. She'd never been good without crowds, for multiple reasons, and this one was certainly no exception. Because as many people were shouting encouragements, there were those who were still screaming insults. Insults to the boy from nine, the rebel who'd most definitely caused a scene. Insults to other rebels, not her though.

Still, the attention was embarrassing, and she half expected people to start shouting homophobic or racial slurs. She knew it was unlikely that anyone knew about her sexuality, or that they'd make fun of it given the way they dressed, but she still couldn't help that nagging feeling at the back of her head telling her that at any given moment they would start screaming at her to go, to leave. That she was abnormal, a monster. And for that strange, strange fear, she just wanted the show to end.

The tributes standing next to her, Disrtict six, both looked completely out of it. The girl being more obvious of the two, her eyes were closed, her arms crossed, and she honestly looked ridiculous. Diana was sure the girl wouldn't ever be even close to a fan favourite, ever.

The boy, on the other hand, was giving half-hearted attempts to wave and to smile. His mind seeming to be focused on other things. He too, wouldn't be a favourite, unless he somehow pulled a miracle at the interview portion of these games and made the crowd love him, somehow. Though, considering his attitude at the moment, she doubted that would happen. The boy's platinum hair was interessting though, Diana would give him that, and she could see just the faintest trait of muscle peeking out from his ridiculous tire outfit. He could be a threat, if he played his cards right, unlike his partner.

Diana made a mental note of him, the boy, Aston. The two red-heads certainly weren't threats by any standards of Diana's. So their names were quickly checked off. After talking with Asher, Diana was honestly not sure what to make of him. Although his entire demeanour had radiated strength, she couldn't help but notice the fact that it all seemed just a little bitter forced. No matter. Diana could still count his general size a small threats anyways.

The two tributes from seven seemed to know each other, if only just barely. Something Diana knew she'd be able to use to her advantage. The girl seemed closer to the boy than the boy to the girl, but it didn't matter. They had relations, that was huge, especially In game standards.

And, Diana doubted anyone hadn't been able to figure out the fact that the tributes from one knew each other. Hated each other. Absolutely loathed each other. Reasoning still unknown, Diana had no doubt in her mind that those two would go after each other, they would try and kill the other. She didn't consider either of them really focusing on anything else before the other was dead, which was good for her. Two less strong, because let's face it they were two healthy strong seventeen year olds, opponents for Diana to worry about.

The tribute girl from eight and her partner seemed unusually awkward with one another. Diana had absolutely no idea what to make of it, but it was still there. They'd both made an effort to not look at the other once, and had stayed as far away as their escorts would allow, so Diana was fairly certain something was going on with the two.

Diana wondered if June was watching, what she'd make of Diana's outfit. Definitely not as bad as the others and Diana was grateful. She wondered how June was feeling, scared, nervous, sad? All of the above perhaps? Thinking of June made her arms twitch, made her want to do something. It was this feeling, feeling of want and pure want. She was sure her face displayed the emotion openly and suddenly she hoped June was watching. She let the expression stay for a few more seconds before closing it back up, closing it up and hoping it never returned. At least not for the rest of the games, that would give the other tributes something to use against her, and Diana didn't want any of that to happen.

Unlike the platinum blond she shared the chariot with, the other tributes didn't know about her love interest. Didn't know about her devotion for June. Unlike how everyone knew about Aston's 'Lexi' who he'd screamed and cried for at the reapings. That was his first mistake. Revealing a weakness to your enemies. That was a mistake, and Diana knew that not only her but others would use this to their advantage.

Diana just wished this games would end so she could stop thinking like this.

 **Iris Elmswood**

Iris fidgeted nervously with her costume. Which she absolutely despised. It was made of tires, actual tires. Her headpiece was a tire, wrapped around her head and she hated it. Her shirt was made out of tires, tiny little ones and bigger ones. She didn't care if she was going mad, because whoever made this must have been in a condition ten times worse.

Her District partner, Aston, had hated it as well. Even going so far as to try and physically attack their prep team. Iris had gotten the feeling that he'd despised them ever since they decided on calling him 'Blondie' as his nickname. Or, insulted his lack of composure, lack of muscle, lack of everything really. Iris had thought that his uniqueness made him intriguing, but apparently the Capitolites had disagreed. They'd fixed him up until he'd looked like a doll you'd find in a store. If, the dolls sold looked like the walking stereotype cliched image of a bad boy. Ruffled hair, scowl, she thought she even saw a few fake piercings. Which completely lost all of its bite after they'd plopped a tire onto his head.

And Iris realized that she'd preferred the other look he'd had. It was handsome, in its own unique way. His platinum hair had been startling and had looked good messed up, now it just looked so jelled Iris was scared to touch it.

For Iris, they'd just straightened her hair, dabbled on a little bit of makeup, before going completely ham on her. They'd slapped concealer onto her face to hide her scars and her sunken eyes. They hadn't done that to Aston, saying that they gave him character. Made him Look 'badder'. Now, if only they could follow their own advice and not dress them up as tires.

Irirs knew that she wouldn't get any sponsors, any. If the crazed look she'd sported at the reapings hadn't scared them away, this certainly would. She'd hear Aston mumble something about, "If Lexi saw me like this..." And it didn't take Iris even half a second to realize it was the same Lexi he'd screamed for at the reapings. Iris bit her lip. She wasn't smiling and she wasn't waving, not knowing the point if she were stressed like this. Aston had his arms crossed, but a forced smile on his face and nods in either direction still kept him at least partially sane during this whole sop ordeal.

Iris ignored the nagging voices of her parents at the back of her head, telling her to wave, telling her she'd better smile. But Iris didn't care, she just wanted to see them again, and if that meant she would have to die to do so, then so be it. She wasn't doing the heroic thing and winning in their name, no she was dying to see them again. She didn't care if she was being selfish, but if she won she'd have nothing to return to. Besides maybe her best friend, but even then, when was the last time they'd even talked?

Iris sighed, a long regretful thing that gained her District partner's attention for just a minute, before he resumed his awkward smiling. She could feel the other two gazing at her as well, but decided to ignore them. She didn't want to face their stares, didn't want to face anyone. Anyone but her parents.

She decided instead to close her eyes and think. Think of everything and anything that came to mind. Anythung but the painful thought that was her parents. She instead decided to focus on her competition. The girl from five looked strong, but like her, Irirs could see the insanity bubbling at the back of her throat, at the back of her eyes, just waiting to be released. The death of parents can change people, and Irirs could feel that the girl from five and herself had a lot more in common than just being tribute. But she didn't comment it, she wouldn't comment it.

The boy, Christian, mayor's son, because what else was anyone calling him. Aston had called him that, she was pretty sure she's heard the boy from nine say it, everyone was calling him so. He'd been labeled as nothing more than the mayor's son. The mayor's son who'd lived the perfect like that only a handful got to experience. Everyone's dream life. And everyone wanted his head at their feet. And everyone'd been too scared to admit to any of those. Mayor's son. Mayor's son. He'd been labeled, the boy, as nothing larger than the mayor's son. He wouldn't ever be Christian, he'd always be the mayor's son. Everyone knew it, he knew, the Capitolites knew it. And Irirs was almost happy thinking it. Thinking that someone else would feel pain, any type of pain, just like herself.

Irirs didn't bother correcting her thoughts. She just let them flow. Ignoring the nudges in her side by Aston, or the whispered words of her dead parents. Thinking only of whatever else came to mind.

She thought of her candy shop, what she'd give to have an orange lollipop. Orange candies had always been her favourite, for their taste and their colour. She'd originally chosen it because she thought it'd matched her hair, over the years, her love for them only grew. And right now, Iris craved one. But she ignored the feeling in favour of changing the subject.

Changing the subject in the own freedom and safetyof her mind, she really was going crazy wasn't she. She wished she could just leave, leave all of it. Panem, the games, the war, the death, the division. Everything. She just wished she could go. Her eyes opened again, to find no one looking at her, not even her own District partner, and Iris had never felt more alone. She didn't care about anything at the moment, except the fact that she wished so earnestly to die.

* * *

 **Veronica Delaney (D7 and D8 Chariot)**

Veronice tooK in a deep breath. Oakley's presence was calming but also very dominating. She didn't have a shred of attention on herself for all of it was giving to the boy at her side. Because honestly, who was paying attention to the spindly girl from seven, who looked about ten with the ugly mesh of twigs and leaves scattered throughout her hair as her 'costume'. Oakley could pull it off because he was _Oakley_. But, Veronica, plain old Veronica, she was a whole different story.

The Capitolites were screaming his name, chanting it like a sort of mantra, and Veronica felt strangely sick at the thought of death. Because who was going to sponsor her, honestly. Who would bother wasting even a little bit of her money when they had Oakley who stood calmly next to her? Boldly and with an air of confidence. His presence was suffocating because of just how good he was. She could feel her death, she coul literally feel its presence looming over her with every breath the boy adjacent to herself took. She was suddenly so blindingly aware of it that she felt sick.

Because she had to be realistic here, could she even make it past the first damn day? When their were people like Oakley, or tributes resembling those from District two. Girls as beautiful and attention capturing as the ones from ten and one, who Oakley hadn't seemed to notice at all whichever was a bit strange. Because Veronica was sure no hormonal teenage boy would be able to suppress their hormones quite as good as Oakley was doing now, not even one glance, Veronica had been watching.

Which was her first clue that something strange was going on. But she'd decided to ignore it in favour of self pitying. Because that seems a lot more comforting to think about then whatever was going on with Oakley. Because he was the guy you went to to fix your problems, not to fix his, and that was something Veronica did not want to get wrapped up in. As selfish as that may sound, because Veronica didn't want to do anything right now. He was Oakley he'd be fine. He had to be strong when no one else could. Because she was twelve and this wasn't fair.

Not when there were giants like the boy from two, Asher she thinks his name is, or boys like the one from nine who looks dangerous and skilled from just what he'd shown at the reapings and Veronica is scared because she knows she look like someone you'd be able to kill so easily. Because of her size and demeanour, and she knows that anyone in search of an easy kill will come for her and she is scared.

She wants to remain optimistic, because she is still a child and children are supposed to be optimistic, but she isn't. Because she isn't a child any more. Because people are asking her to kill and to hurt and she isn't even a teenager yet. And she thinks this is wrong and stupid and she hates it because she's supposed to be at home eating cake and hanging out with her friends. Not being forced to kill as a punishment for something she didn't even do. And was seven at the time it's happened. So she thinks it's crazy and stupid and she hates it.

As inhumane as it sounds, Veronica can understand the Capitol punishing people like Hollis, the boy from nine, who, visible to anyone with eyes, is a rebel. He should be punished not her, her, Veronica who has done nothing wrong. Midas deserved it too. Who she'd heard from their escort was a rebel, though she doubted the information on his status was available to anyone but Oakley and herself, who was apparently friendly with the escort of District one. Lilith Teacup she thinks is her name. There's a tribute with that same name, the girl from twelve.

Who Veronica is willing to believe might be the single other person to be her age. And just as small and frail. At least Lilith would be another target, still Veronica didn't think either of them were making it very far. But she hoped she'd make it father than Lilith at least. But as the more people overlooked her for the boy at her side, the more, Veronica could feel that optimism fade away, to be replaced by cynical, cynical thoughts.

Veronica wonders what her brothers are doing right now. Watching their barely eligible sister ride off to her death? What are they thinking right this very instance, are they scared for her? They must be. They must also be ready for her death, ready for her funeral. They must be ready to never have her in their lives ever again, a blank void where she used to sit and Veronica wonders exactly what her thoughts would be if it'd been her watching one of her brothers go off to the games. At least they'd have a better chance at winning wouldn't they? At least she knows her father can afford a proper funeral, unlike some of the others. And Veronica should feel privileged, but the only thing she can feel is bittersweet emotions bubbling up and threatening to burst and Veronica is angry.

Veronica just wishes her head would stop pounding and the irrational urge to throw up at the mention of death would just go away. She hopes and hopes. And that is a dangerous thing for someone so _cynical_.

 **Rosemary Finch**

Rosmeary glanced at the boy beside her, who wasn't staring at the crowds or at his feet like she'd expect. Nope. His gaze was focused on something behind them, and Rosemary was suddenly curious as to what the boy was looking at. So, when she made sure she didn't have much attention on her, or at what she considered to be the perfect time, Rosemary glanced back and then immediately turned back around to slap Thread upside the head.

Because the boy'd been staring at the girl froM ten in the skimpiest outfit Rosemary had ever seen. A little cloth, pretty much, had been tied around the girls chest, but open to reveal just a little- a lot- of cleavage. Tied around the start of her stomach. The shorts were so small that she doubted the really covered anything. Everything was on plain view, legs, chest, stomach. And Thread had been staring long enough for it to be considered really weird.

So she'd decided, to literally, slap some sense into him. Not caring what anyone watching would think. A startled yelp arose from the boy in question, who awkwardly rubbed at his head, obviously embarrassed at the situation before him. A slight flame of Crimson enveloping his cheeks. Rosemary glared at him, the kind a mother would give to her children. She knew Thread hadn't been the only one staring, in fact, she was certain that many of the male fans either in the District or in the Capitol had their eyes firmly glued to the female of District ten. Who must've been seventeen at least.

Thread gave her an apologetic shrug, but his main emotion still seemed to be embarassement. And Rosemary would not yield. She glanced back once more at the girl in question, who was now awkwardly smiling, seemingly wanting to suppress a grimace but knew better and seeming to want to shrink in on herself. Which Rosemary could forgive, because if it'd been her in that position, she would've tackled the stylist until he'd agreed to change it. Changed it so that it didn't reveal so much skin. Rosemary was certain that the girl would immediately become a favourite, if only for her body.

During the reapings, Rosemary hadn't paid much attention to her. The only girl who really stood out to Rosemary as 'pretty' was the model-esque girl from one, the girl from ten certainly hadn't been on her list. But now, she was certain that everyone would keep a close eye on her. Thread had turned away from her now, instead going back to waving and smiling. Rosemary was doing the same. She watched the flags that lined to runway change from face to face.

Currently it was on the boy from three. Who was smiling a dazzling smile that would certainly woo girls back in her district, is the thought that immediately entered her mind. She blushed at the thought. His eyes seemed to sparkle and Rosemary doubted how anyone's smile could look that real considering the situation. Rosemary doubted it was a hundred percent genuine, but it was certainly one of the most convincing efforts.

The boy in question himself, was strange. Rosemary didn't know what to make of him. The boy from three who'd volunteered for his deaf cousin. Who'd immediately captured the hearts of Capitol citizens everywhere. Their escort had already been talking about him by just the train rides. And Rosemary wished she'd been able to capture that kind of moment during her reaping. Not the crazy girl who seemed to be having a seizure, she doubted she'd be particularly loved during the games. Unlike certain volunteering-for-cousins tributes.

The flags changed and Rosemary saw her own look of confusion litter the flags. Immediately she switched to a smile, hoping no one had saw her look of thought. Instead, she mustered the biggest, brightest smile she could manage and winked at the crowd. The essence of herself altered in the flags and Rosemary was satisfied. Despite her rocky beginning at the reaping, she was detained to get sponsors. Detained to become a fan favourite because that was the only way she could even stand a chance against monsters like the boy from two. Against beauties like those from ten and one. Or even fan favourite volunteers like the boy from three and girl from eleven, who'd volunteered for her blind best friend.

Who, may Rosemary add, she was determined to ally with. If, for a part of the sponsorship deals only. But also for just the fact that Rosemary admired her, as silly as that may sound, but Rosemary did. She was the only person Rosemary would even consider as an ally. Her own District partner completely out of the question.

They knew one another, her District partner, Rosmeary knew the boy. He was the same boy who'd kept her living. And now she was supposed to return the favour by killing him, repaying him by killing all the others who lived only thanks to his constant help at the refugee camp. And Rosemary couldn't face that reality, she couldn't. So she tried to ignore him, he'd done the same. And both pretended the other had never met in their life. Rosemary could feel the guilt wracking her body in silent courses. Because Rosemary wanted to thank him, but she couldn't, not without remembering what was to come. Or what was already here. The games.

So Rosemary just stared ahead and smiled, her face finally removing itself from the surrounding flags. Moving onto the next. And Rosemary let out a sigh of relief. Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The pictured changed to Oakley, his face a look of actual happiness. He looked so... Perfect. And Rosemary was taken aback. If she thought Velkan's smile had looked real, then Oakley's was like that out of a bad romance novel. Because he looked like the dictionary definition of a golden boy, or say the boy next door. And Rosemary was absolutely stunned, and she had no doubt in her mind that this boy would be a favourite.

He wasn't Looking anywhere but at the crowd, winking and smiling dazzling smiles. which made fans of both genders swoon. A shout of, "Oakley! Here!" And the boy blowing an kiss in that general vicinity elicited a SQUEAL! So loud that Rosemary felt the need to cover her ears, and she wondered why she hadn't pegged this boy as a threat. Because it didn't matter if she didn't see any visible scars or visible threats retaining strength, he had the personality and charisma to go far on sponsor gifts alone. And Rosemary was visibly stunned.

The flags changed all too quickly and the face switched yet again. Rosemary vaguely saw the face of the boy from eleven before she turned to see Oakley. He was still smiling and waving and Rosemary was genuinely impressed. Especially considering his District partner seemed about ready to faint from the attention their chariot was receiving and it wasn't even her the attention was directed towards. And Rosemary was impressed with how stable the boy was, smile never wavering, eyes constantly darting from face to face. Rosemary wondered how he did it. Even with his strange leaf covered outfit, twigs sticking out his hair and all, he still managed to look cool and in control, not a bit of humiliation in his face in the slightest. She was actually a little awed at the act.

Immediately she turned back around to the crowd, and tried to imitate the boy's facial expression. Failing miserably. She just didn't know how he did it, and frankly she really wanted to know. Because she needed the sponsors and Oakley seemed to be getting so much that he could afford to lose a few, unlike Rosmeary who doubted she'd really have any by the time this parade was over.

If her messily sewn together outfit was anything to go by. The thing was made of many different fabrics, crudely sewed together to make some sort of robe like _thing_. That clashed and honestly looked horrible. Her hair was made to look like a spool of threat, needle sticking out and all, but looked strange to Rosemary at least.

Rosmeary breathed once in and once out, before refocusing on the crowds. Hoping desperately that someone would notice her yet. Praying that she'd be able to survive, for Petra and Cora's sake if not for her own. Which Rosemary doubted any of this really was for anyone at this point.

* * *

 **Hollis Pobarr** **(D9 and D10 Chariot)**

Hollis grumbled to himself, blushing slightly. Which, may he add, was something he never did. But what was he supposed to do when, ehem, the tribute he was currently squashed against was practically wearing nothing. It didn't help that she wasn't too hard on the eyes either.

He'd seen Leilani's smirking face when she'd caught the Crimson lightning on his face, a simple glare had put an end to that though. The girl herself appeared deeply annoyed with her outfit actually, desperately trying to cover as much as that shirt and shorts would allow. Which, let's face it, wasn't much. Unlike the full body suits of both District five tributes. Or those ridiculous tires the District six tributes were wearing.

Before the chariot race had really begun, he'd managed some words in to the District one male tribute. Midas Ambertida and fellow rebel, and weirdly enough, Hollis found that he liked the boy for more than just the shared status. Because the boy's personality was one Hollis genuinely liked and he remembered a feeling of longing to see Durango and Ajax just once more, one more time because he'd be damned if the Capitol actually let him win these death games.

He could honestly believe that if he were back home Midas would fit in perfectly in their little trio, and Hollis hates that fact. Because he doesn't want to get attached only for one of them to die. But he can't help it, and he hates that. Because how is he supposed to prepare for these kinds of things, really. Whatever. Hollis knows, almost certainly, that neither of them will win. Because seriously, like the Capitol is going to let two rebels make it very far. Wouldn't that kinda defeat the point they were trying so desperately to make.

Sure Midas has that whole thing going on with Maya, and that was bound to keep people entertained for a while, but what happens after that? They'll just kill him off right? Maybe, Hollis isn't really sure at this point. He can't help but smirk at the thought though, because the tension coming off of both District one tributes is so obvious he bets even a blind man could see it. The 'subtle' glances at the other, the carefully concealed rage between words. The careful considerations of speech, it all seems too tension filled, so fake, that Hollis can't help but he himself be intrigued.

Their own costumes are nothing special. Definitely not the worst though. (cough* District six *cough.) A little plain but Hollis didn't really care about sponsors, or an image, he jusT wanted to show the Capitol that he wasn't their freakin' pawn. He was going to bomb the interviews and he was going to be proud about it. He wasn't doing this. Which was why that stupid wheat hat was coming off. He didn't hesitate to take it and throw it off,he watched it blow away into the crowds. And smiled as the hideous creation blew away, never to be mentioned again. His long hair now revealed to the air and it felt so much better.

He ignored the looks Leilani was giving him and went straight back to start taking the trench coat made of freakin' wheat, he got that that was their main export but come on, and once his black latex covered chest was free he honestly felt so much better. He ignored the looks received by Haizea and her partner, smiling and grinning broadly at the cameras. Daring them to do something.

He smiled and waved mockingly, daring them, egging them on. He felt Leilani's judgmental, but still slightly intrigued and impressed expression, and he felt proud. And he didn't care if they killed him over this, tortured him over this, tried to make him regret this because he wouldn't. Because he was dying anyways wasn't he?

The Capitol would be made a mockery of, hated, if they let their first ever Victor be a rebel, because what kind of image would that promote really? Definitely not the one they were trying so hard to create. He bid himself and Midas and all the other unfortunate rebels on the chariots sorrow filled goodbyes. Not caring in the slightest of he came off as anything but humble or kind. Because let's face it, when was Hollis both of those things in the same week, much less the same time?

Hollis heard some boos, he didn't hesitate in flipping them off. He wasn't sure who 'them' was, but just kinda waves his middle finger towards the 'boos' general vacinity. Satisfied woth the reactions he'd evoked. This is for him, Hollis thought, for his brother. His big bro was finally getting what he deserved, and that was someone fighting for him. Not with honour, but with life and pride and determination and strength, and that was exactly what his perfect, perfect freakin brother deserved.

Hollis honestly couldn't care less if some stupid dyed green idiots thought that what he was doing was wrong, because honestly, a snake won't lose sleep over the opinions of mice. Especially if those mice actually thought that it'd be a good idea to dye their hair that shade of orange, because honey it looks like a carrot had decided to make its home on your head. And Especially if those opinions involve something as freakin' perfect as his perfect freakin' brother.

Hollis proudly flipped them off and booed right back. Hoping that somewhere in heaven his brother was watching. Hollis could see for himself a glimpse of his brother's angel wings and halo as he tumbled straight into Hell. Cursing a grinning the entire fall down, never once regretting a thing.

 **Haizea Lobo**

Haizea absolutely despised her outfit. Not only for just how revealing it was, but also add to the fact, that this was exactly what she hadn't wanted. Staying under the radar had been her plan from the very beginning, it'd make sure the Capitol didn't suspect her, in fact, it'd most likely make them forget her. Until she won of course. Or until Buck won. That was when they'd realize their mistake of underestimating her. That was when they'd realized that this was all their fault. And they'd better regret it. But at the moment, her outfit was going against all of this. Hours of planning throw to waste.

She wanted to tug down her shirt, but that'd revel too much chest, it she tried pulling it up, it'd revel too much stomach, so she'd been forced to do absolutely nothing about it. Her shorts were so small that they were practically nonexistent and Haizea hated them with a burning passion. She wished so desperately that she had something like those of the District five tributes, who were completely covered in white suits and hats and Haizea envied them so much it was actually unbelievable. Her hair was pinned up in a high ponytail, framing her face which was lathered with makeup. Haizea wanted to scrub it off so badly because it itched and made her feel self-conscious. She wished for it to burn just like her house had as a child, that would be ironic wouldn't it?

There wasn't much... Support in the shirt either, making it all the more uncomfortable. Haizea just wanted this to end. She tried ignoring the pointed looks from the obviously loyalist girl from one, who seemed intent on making her feel horrible for something that wasn't even her fault. Haizea would be lying if she said she didn't take any pleasure in seeing the girl throw an obvious temper tantrum much to the dismay of her partner. Haizea would be lying if she said that she couldn't help but smirk at the venomous glare the girl sent Haizea's way. Or the small smile she'd sent the girl's partner, who seemed just as done with Maya as Haizea herself.

There was obvious backstory to the two, but Haizea wasn't sure what exactly. She doubted anyone in the stadium couldn't see it, but she doubted any of them, including herself, knew what it was exactly. She doubted any of them knew what the hostile and challenging glares sent within District one's selves were for either.

Maya and Midas.

What a pair of very interessting individuals. Haizea was caught up in thought, her body going on autopilot to smile and wave while trying to suppress an angry grimace threatening to spread across her features because; _this outfit_. She almost missed the nudge at her side. She glanced down, it was Buck. Of course it was Buck but still. Who was blushing like mad and holding out with one arm his dark brown duster I her general direction.

A long coat he'd been offered for his costume and Haizea smiled. Actually smiled, and gratefully took the brown duster from the boy's hand. Who retracted it gently after the his hold was released. Which Haizea definitely found both adorable and amusing. "Thank you." She told him, giving him a warm smile, because he was still blushing and still refusing to meet her eyes. Instead opting to look at his feet. A mumbled reply came seconds later, a small, "You're welcome." Which managed to brighten her mood even more. Because she was grateful and he was so sweet. She quickly tugged the coat around her, it was void of any buttom so she kept it in place using her hands.

She was grateful and could actually feel hundreds of eyes release their hold on her chest and midriff. And she visibly sighed, relieved. She pretended she hadn't noticed the boy from two's gaze who lingered just a little longer, before he was smacked across the cheek by his District partner, who promptly hissed something at him, and turned around. He was blushing a bright red and continued to awkwardly smile the rest of the time. Haizea felt like laughing despite the situation.

She was glad that both boys she shared the chariot with didn't gaze too long, that could've been awakward. Hollis, the obvious rebel to her left was seemed too focused on... well, being a rebel than to focus much on Haizea. Despite his earlier blush of having to be next to her. Haizea appreciated the lack of comments. No attest to how grateful she was though, she also didn't forget the fact that she was most likely going to be yelled at and chastised from both her stylist and mentor, maybe even her prep team. She doubted Buck would get off completely clean too, considering he had been the one to offer his duster to her. Something, which she was very thankful for and wouldn't let him take all the weight for.

This went against everything Haizea had planned and it ruined everything. She'd still make sure she was boring during the interviews and got a mediocre score, but this event cannot simply be undone. She bet that during the interviews her stylist would put her into another revealing outfit, and the interviwpewer would probably ask questioning queries about it. And Haizea hated that fact. Because this went against everything she had planned, and if she wasn't more careful then she could get found out. And if that happened then she would be killed by the Capitol before any other tribute could even lay a hand on her, and Haizea hated that fact.

Because her plan to keep herself alive during these games was ruined by the vey thing that'd kept her alive all those year before, when she was a bloodthirsty child out for revenge, exceptionally renowned for her good looks and ability to stand out.

* * *

 **Thorn Willows** **(D11 and D12 Chariot)**

Thorn was nervously wringing his hands, him and Sparrow had both been dressed up as Gods. Her as the Roman Goddess Ceres, goddess of agriculture or the harvest or something, and his as some Roman god of the same thing. Unfortunately, he looked ridiculous. Because unlike Sparrow, he couldn't pull this look off apparently. He was not gonna go into detail, so let's just say he looked bad.

He just wished he'd never made that stupid wish for something to happen, because this was not what he had in mind at all. He knew it was stupid to think like that, that his wish is what had caused all this, but he couldn't help it. Thorn desperately wished that he could do something else's beside just stand here.

His hands itched for the familiar counting of coins or of helping old ladies find what they were looking for and he just wished his life would go back to normal because this was not normal and he hated it. It made him uncomfortable and scared, as it should though, mind you. Thorn, _him_ , Thorn, would be forced to kill. He would be forced to murder and Thorn was scared, genuinely scared. Thorn wanted to shrink in on himself and this is a new feeling and Thorn is strangely curious.

He wished he could smile and say that nothing was wrong, but Thorn had always been horrible at faking emotions when he was so good at reading them which made absolutely no sense but was how Thorn operated anyways. he was well aware that his smile looked wonky and his eyes lacked their usual spark and that was not fine despite it not really mattering. Because Who was paying him any attention when there were people like Asher and people like Hollis and people like Haizea and Maya and Oakley and Sparow even.

He was nothing, he was nobody compared to them. But, he supposed he should've been used to that by now. It was the same in the District. He was the _grocer's boy_ , and he would never be anything other than the _Grocer's boy_. There was no need for something as simplistic as a _grocer's boy_ in the lavish place that was the Capitol. He'd made a fool of himself during the train rides over, crying like some little fourth grader and he knew Sparrow must think he was weak now, as she should. And he hated himself for it. He was weak and Sparrow knew that, and pretty soon everyone else would know it too.

During training he could bet Sparrow would tell everyone about it because why wouldn't she? And then Thorn would be killed and he would die and everything would go straight to hell because of one stupid wish. That if he could, he'd do anything to take back the very wish he'd been excited to make, restless to make, because he regretted it so much. Add that to the list of things he hated about himself. Stupid wishes were pretty high up there, right after being such a stupid crybaby when it mattered most.

For all his observation skills, he sure lacked the very skill he could pick apart and critique with ease. Thorn hated this fact. He could feel Sparow's gaze looking anywhere but him purposefully. She was avoiding him. He felt stupid irrational rage bubble up before he pushed it back down firmly. No.

She had no obligation to help you. Why should she? You were just some weak little idiot and she didn't want to get caught up in problems that aren't even hers. Especially when they belong to the frail child she's seen cry and scream, no wonder she thinks so lowly of you. No wonder she's avoiding you like the plague. _You're weak_. Thorn wishes he was someone like Velkan, th boy from three,or Sparrow who seemed so confident in her abilities, she looked strong and sure and ready. He wanted to cry but he could only imagine how far that would get him. Wasn't that the whole reason she wasn't looking at you anyways. His head Is sounding and he's mad. This is all your stupid fault and-

Thorn felt his thoughts and insecurities boil and rise but he couldn't let them show, he doubted he was doing a very good job though. But with the lack of attention on him he bet he could get away with practically everything, without someone noticing because he was Thorn and he was invisible. Which was fine and good, but still very self deprecating nonetheless.

Thorn closed his eyes and tried to think. Hoping that no one realized just show much he hated himself and these stupid games.

 **Lilith Cadow**

Colours are flashing everywhere. She's screaming but no sound is coming out and her head is spinning. She hears voices in her head and she's scared. She wants to escape but their arms are holding her back and she's struggling but no one's coming to help her. She can see them leaving her and she struggles harder, but she can't move. Their arms are constricting her, wrapping around her in swift motions. She can't breathe they're constricting her throat and Lilith panics.

The colours of the stands are blending into the other, creating one big mass of colour and sound. And she is scared, she wants to hide. Their voices beckon her with colourful and childlike atmospheres and Lilith is tempted to go Join them. But then she sees their mutilated bodies and skins and faces and she panics and tries to run back, run away. They don't let her. Instead childlike glee is completely overrun by reds and blacks and they try to consume her.

Her screams never leave her throat and her mouth never opens. She feels them getting closer and she tries to run but she trips and falls. She's trying to cry but no tears come out and she hears them mocking her. _You're inhumane! How can you not be crying!? They just died! Why are you not crying, you monster child!_ She hears them screaming sentences she's heard millions of times over and over and she tries to cry. She wants to cry, but she can't. Which just makes her want to cry even more.

They grab her off the ground and she stares, hoping to meet the calm eyes of her brother, someone she lives for and trusts and loves. But instead is greeted by mutilated monsters and she wants to scream again. They clamp down onto her mouth and she tries biting, but it doesn't work. She feel them attach strings to her arms and legs as she struggles and she kicks and pulls, but they don't let her do any of _that_.

Every Time she struggles they pull her strings and they make her smile, they make her wave, while Lilith is dying inside. Lilith just wants it to end, but they're not letting her. They pull her strings they make her look perfect and then they tell her, force her, to smile and wave as if she wants to. She's a puppet and she hates it but they don't care. They tell her they're trying to help her, that it's for her own good.

She believes them and lets them control her. Lilith lets them in and the strings tighten and now she's got even more rules and she can't break any of them or else they won't protect her. Because her brother and parents and friends are all gone and she has no one but _them_ and _they_ know that. So _they_ use that. Lilith doesn't struggle the next time they make her smile and wave, and half of the time she does it without them pulling a single string and Lilith doesn't care. They make her believe She never did. She starts to think with such certaincy that is untameable and that makes them like her.

Lilith likes the fact that they like her and wants it to happen more often. So she decided to obey more often and they tell her she's doing the right thing. Lilith believes them.

* * *

 **Wow. That was long. Oops? Anyways, training'll be coming up next. Will have two chapters of that and I really should have split this chapter into parts because 11k words is actually insane. Also, by the end I was getting a little messy, so the all over the place writing is because of that.**


	34. Training: Day I

"Dear Tributes, today is day one of training. This time has been presented to you for a chance for the untrained and uneducated to survive. We have hired only the very best to help you during your time here. Several different stations have been set up for you to train in both physical asPects as well as more intelligence based ones. We encourage you to get to know the other tributes, as everyone will be exposed together here. We hope you enjoy your time here. Happy training."

* * *

Midas looked around him. This was the first time all the tributes were really interacting. Sure they had the chariot parade but this was something different, you know? Here, everyone was cautious of their every move. Their actions weren't just observed from afar, now everyone was up close and personal. Prejudices and grudges were clear. Your standing on the war clear from just who you chose to associate yourself with. Midas was certain everyone here knew Hollis to be a rebel, how could they not? The same way he was sure everyone could tell Maya was of the opposite standing. He'd be dammned if someone had missed the fact that he and Maya had history, something Midas believedd to be clear as day.

Midas was hoping to avoid people here as much as possible. He didn't want to interact with anyone. He'd decided that today he was going to observe, not engage. He was going to watch, this was his strategy. The war had taught him how to survive on the minimalistic of conditions. How one must adapt to their surroundings of they wanted even a chance at survival. This was no different from the war, it was just disguised as something different. The only flaw in his plan had to be Maya, who he was sure would try and interact with him, no doubt about it. Midas didn't know why he found Maya so infuriating. Why he continued to play their endless game of cat and mouse, but he did.

Midas would be lying if he said that he didn't believe himself smarter than the average boy. Not in the way of math or English. But he knew the real world, he'd seen fighting up front, he'd lived through a war. He experienced constant nightmares, visions of sights he wished never to revisit. He understood the art of body language, how if you observed enough you began to catch on to what your opponent was going to do next. The slight strain in the wrist, or the tension that released in one's shoulders. Those were clues that in a fight you had to use to your advantage. It was only logical.

Midas would never explicably say it, but he thought that Maya felt the same. He refused to see comparisons between him and Maya because he represented the rebellion, she represented everything Midas was not. But they were intertwined,two sides of the same coin, they had similarities, they were similar. In ways Midas really hated acknowledging. But he was not going to spend his whole life in denial, he knew they shared traits and though processes. Add that to the list of why Midas wanted so badly to eliminate her.

Currently, him and Maya were together. Not yet moving to a station, instead the two of them were observing. Their escort had obnoxiously dressed them quite similarly. He tugged a little self consciously on the helm of his light green shirt, which he'd been told complimented his golden hair quite nicely. Maya's stated that she thought it looked better on her, he hadn't had the heart to start an argument. Not now. Here, was where his plan to kill the girl who'd tried to do the exact same thing to him would start. Where his revenge would truly unfold. Midas liked to think himself the hero, but sometimes he wondered if in Maya's story he was portrayed as something akin to a villain.

Midas was boredly contemplating where he should start, sure some of the stations appeared emptier than others, but there was still the looming threat of Maya. He was hoping to choose a station after she did so he could purposefully avoid her, but the girl in question wasn't seeming to move. Midas tried his best to just ignore her completely.

They were one of the first to arrive. There were the two tributes from three, who Midas had brushed off as not threats, and the tributes from both two and four.

The tributes from three were talking together, them too dressed similarly. With Maya and Midas it was more visible, but Midas could see that the tributes's outfits definitely seemed too similar for it to be only a coincidence. They were at a knot station, the boy seemed to be doing fine. The girl seemed distracted and out of it, her own knot laid undone and abandoned on the table. She seemed fidgety and awkward with her partner, but Midas didn't think the sight was too strange or very impressive.

The girl from two scared him slightly. Well, not exactly scared. She unnerved him. Same as Maya used too, she just seemed to radiate hostility everywhere she went. A sadisstic sort of glint in her eyes that Midas found extremely hard to ignore. She seemed... honestly, she didn't feel human. She was simply, strangely playing with some knives at the moment, seeming to contemplate which one to throw before shrugging, smiling and effortless throwing one towards the target. The knife sailed through the air with such speed that Midas could have sworn if he'd blinked he would have missed it. She missed, the knife just barely grating the target and the girl seemed so unpleased that she just kept throwing. Knife after knife, her dissatisfaction seeming to fuel her every shot. Desperation and anger pooling through her arm, yet her face never betrayed these emotions, not even once. She just kept smiling, and Midas was _unnerved_. It seemed inhumane.

His thoughts were abruptly ended by the feeling of Maya's eyes on him and he turned. Curiosity and basic human instinct got the better of him. His blue eyes narrowed upon seeing the smile Maya was currently sporting. "So, Midas, where do you want to start?" Midas should have known. Maya was waiting for him to make the first move so that she could follow after him. Lazily, he looked back towards the tributes. "Not sure, what about you?" Just keep pretending. You both know that it's pretend. First person to back out loses. Just keep pretending. Just keep pretending.

"Hmm, we don't really need weapon training do we, Midas? We had the rebellion to prepare us for that. Although my weapon of choice is a gun, I was taught on the basics of swordplay. You used hand to hand combat, did you not?" Maya's voice was filled with a basic inquiry that Midas was certain was fake. As was the mock thinking she seemed to demonstrate. Eyes pointed upwards and a finger to her lips, as if lost in thought. Midas knew that she knew this stuff by heart. No need for the act, Midas thought. Even though he knew that statement was so obviously false.

"Yeah, didn't really get much formal training." His hands were in the pockets of his coat, as he continued to feign interest in the different stations, as of he were contemplating which one to go to. He heard Maya make a hum of though. "Is that so, maybe we should start off with a weapon station then. I could teach you the basics of sword." Midas shook his head, no way was he accepting Maya's offer to publicly humiliate him.

"We could go to the plant station. Neither of us really learmed about that stuff. Right?" Midas finally tuned to face her, just in time to see her nod in approval. Arms now folded across her chest. If any of the other tributes found the two of them just standing and talking at the entrance of the building strange, they didn't decide to comment on it.

"Well, off we go then." Maya started walking before she even finished her sentence. Leading him to the station. Their act of mock politeness burned Midas slightly. He hated it, but this was just another competition too between the two was it not? Everythng was a competition between them. But this wasn't something like who could eat their pie the quickest, or who would get to the hill first. These were psychological games that messed with his very mind and made him have to think twice before doing anything. These games were never addressed out loud. If either of them ever did, then the other won. And if they were ever going to let the other do anything, it most certainly wasn't to let them win the game. These games meant something to them, what exactly neither of them really knew. Just that losing it would most definitely mean death.

As they made their way to plant station, Midas caught the eye of the girl from four, loyalist for sure, who gave him a bored look before returning to her swords. Sparring with the trainer and seemingly winning. Definitely loyalist. Midas made a mental note of the girl being both a threat and an annoyance. Also as someone to avoid.

Midas turned back towards his destination, the instructor seeming to be nowhere in sight but it didn't matter much to Midas. Maya turned back to look at him, "Do you see the instructor anywhere?" He returned her question with a shake of the head and a half shrug. The very epitome of uninterested. He also used her moment of stop and inquiry to pass her, and sit down at the station where they should be learning about plants. Maya followed soon after and plopped herself down beside him on the ground. A few books and different types of plants were laid out before them, Midas reached forward to grab two, handing one to the girl beside him. Who's eyes flashed in brief surprise before being masked again by a gracious smile.

"No need to act so surprised." It was a taunt and they both knew it. It was Midas' way of telling her that he saw through her act. That no matter how hard she tried he would see through whatever means she used to mask her emotions. That he could read her and there was nothing that she could do about it. Maya simply chuckled, a small and giggly one, "Sorry." Her way of telling him that it wouldn't happen again and _just try and read her next time_. That Maya would make sure that Midas wouldn't get the better of her again and to say she _would_ be better than him. That she wasn't losing this game. Midas simply smiled in return.

He flipped to a random page on the book, it was a small thing no bigger than his hand. He flipped to a random page. Carnation, a flower, something he wouldn't need to know. Nothing special about it. Not a herb nor a poison, just a flower. One that ironically represented Pride and beauty, both traits he wouldn't even hesitate to associate with Maya. Sighing he closed the book, he'd just wait for the instructor to arrive. And so he sat and waited, watching Maya as she read and pretended that she didn't notice him staring. It always seemed to be pretending with them didn't it?

* * *

Asher gritted his teeth. Continuously slashing back at his opponent. Desperately trying to get the higher ground. But his opponent was having none of it. One swift move and Asher was both disarmed and kicked to the ground. A spear to his throat, Asher could only feel his anger burning. He laid there, silently breathing, desperately wanting to cry. He was trained in shooting, he was well accustomed to fighting with a gun. Not a spear. It seemed awkward and heavy in his hands and the instructor seemed to know his every move before he would even do it. Asher was strong, he knew this, but this man, the instructor, seemed just so much stronger. He wasn't toned like Asher was but he was smart and Asher was growing so frustrated.

It was like his first years in the peacekeeper academy. Where he was a scrawny boy working to pay for his parents life. He would constantly lose, but Asher was determined, he couldn't let his family suffer. So he'd trained and trained until finally his dream of finally getting a job where he could fully support his parents and siblings was finally becoming a reality. He was strong and intimidating. But it was as if all of that means nothing, because this man continuously beat him as of all of Asher's training was irrelevant. Because if Asher couldn't survive these games his family was going to die. Asher wasn't letting that happen. He was confident in his abilities coming into these games, sure, he wasn't positive he could kill, it wasn't really necessary to win, right? He'd been certain that he could pull it off. But now he was doubting that too.

He wasn't sure if he could win. He really wasn't sure. If years of training meant nothing, then what did Asher even have. He had no social skills nor had he ever been good at reading others. Because all of his time had been spent inside that damn academy! Because he was trying to keep his family alive! Now all of those years where he poured his soul into keeping everyone safe and everyone happy, where he took of the position of responsibility because his parents wouldn't for nothing. Because if he couldn't win then it meant nothing.

His siblings were too young to do anything, and his parents wouldn't work. All that time where he could have been normal, where he could have learned something about the world he lived in. He spent trying to help his family, and if he didn't win that none of that would even matter. He didn't know how to socialize, that had always been Titus' job, because he had to work.

As Asher lay there he just wished that he wasn't so useless. His chest was burning and his sweat was pooling around his neck. Dripping down his chest and face. He struggled to get up, the instructor offering no help. He hastily and with effort pushed himself up onto his knees. He lay there, hunched over and panting, feeling so utterly useless. Everything he did was never good enough. His academy training wouldn't mean anything if he didn't actually graduate. His job meant nothing if it still didn't provide enough for his family to actually be healthy. He was just some mass of muscle, completely and utterly useless. He heaved once, twice, before using his hand to push himself up to his feet. He staggered once before regaining his balance and retaking the spear which was outstretched towards him by the instructor.

"Again." His request was straightforward and simple. Leaving no room for argument. He thought he saw the ghost of a smile on the man's face, a small, sad smile before he took his stance. Asher didn't care though, he was here to win, he had to. And so when he charged the man again he made sure to pour everything into it.

* * *

Thorn's head hurt. It was to early for this. Too much information. He hated this, all of this, he wished he'd never wished for anything exciting besides the life of his little store. He would have been perfectly content staying the same. Instead he was thrust into a world where he could die. Actually die. The concept of death had always been so incomprehensible to Thorn. He knew people died, yes. But he'd never had to face it. His family had remained neutral throughout the war, not once had he had to face the hardships of a civil war. Life had simply continued on.

He knew that eventually he would die, but Thorn was sixteen, those weren't what the average sixteen year old spent his weekends thinking about. And so he'd just accepted that he'd probably die from old age or some illness at the age of eighty. He had enough food to last him a lifetime and never once had money been a problem for him. But now the concept was glaring him in the face and it was taunting him. Telling him that it was right there, potentially just a week away and that scared him.

It was all so new to him, that this could be his last time interacting with humans ever. Finally death felt real to him, as if he could feel it. He sometimes found himself counting down the days until the games started. counting down just how many days he had left to live, really live. Not just survive, but live. Thorn's life had been completely flipped upside down and some real threat had been delivered to the boy. Finally something was at stake and Thorn hated it. It reminded him of during gym class in middle school, where he would never risk anything out of the fear he'd get hurt. He made sure his situation was always under control, that he knew exactly what he was facing. But now he was facing death and he so desperately wanted to back out like he had done as a child whenever risk presented itself, but he couldn't and he knew that he couldn't.

Trying to start a fire was useless and dull. He hated every second of it. The instructor was telling him that it was fine, he was doing good. But he knew he wasn't. After another failed attempt and another false encouragement later he put down the sticks in frustration. The instructor opened her mouth to speak, Thorn just cut her off. "It's fine, I probably won't need a fire anyways." He turned away and managed to get two steps before he turned around, "Thanks for the help though."

He continued on after that, he felt he at least owed the girl an apology. Standing now in the middle of the room, he felt close to somewhat of an idiot. Now what? What station next. Hmm, maybe he should have thought a little ahead on his plan instead of just leaving. His eyes skirted across the room before settling on the plant stain two tributes were seated at. The girl and boy from one, he was sure. They weren't talking so Thorn assumed it fine to go and join them, if they weren't directly interacting then his presence wouldn't be too much of a disruption right?

He didn't ponder the question any longer, simply went to join them. He took his time in analyzing them though. The boy's back was towards him, but the girl was turned on her side, therefore she herself was facing the boy. The instructor was holding up some sort of root, talking about it aS the girl listened intently and nodded occasionally. The boy next to her seemed to be taking notes. As if this were school, Thorn wanted to laugh at that, though he wouldn't want the unwanted attention that would warrant. He saw the instructor put down the root looking plant for another similar looking plant, Thorn sped up a little so he could arrive right on time for the new lessons to start.

He hastily mumbled a 'hello' before plobbong himself right next to the girl. The instructor glanced up at him, "Hello there." The boy looked up from his notes to stare at him, blue eyes seeming to analyze him, blonde hair messily combed on his head. The boy's conclusion seemed to brush Thorn off as unimportant or not worth his time as he looked back down at his book. Absentmindedly twirling his pencil.

The girl gave him a smile, "Hi, I'm Maya. The female tribute from District one." Thorn blushed a little because this girl was really pretty. Like _really_ pretty, "I'm Thorn." His reply was short and brief, he was too flustered to manage anything else, he cursed himself silently because it had taken him just a little too long to respond. She gave him a little laugh, still smiling, and Thorn felt himself blush harder. She was also really nice apparently. "So Thorn, what District are you from?" Thorn opened his mouth to answer, but closed it when he heard the boy, Maya's District partner, snort loudly, but tried to conceal it with his book. Why he was laughing, Thorn didn't know, but he simply brushed it off, trying not to show his confusion. "I'm from District eleven."

She was still smiling. "Ignore Midas." Thorn could only assume that this was the name of her District partner. "Anyways, continue on, sir." She directed her attention back towards the instructor, who gave her a grateful smile before continuing on. He thought he heard Midas mumble something but he wasn't sure what, he decided to take Maya's advice and simply ignore him. Thorn didn't know why Maya put up with him.

Maya seemed so perfect, it was a little strange but Thorn couldn't keep himself from being just a little intrigued. He was like a princess straight out of the fairy tales his parents would read him as a child. She seemed nice but smart, Thorn couldn't help but want her as an ally. He thought that he could be useful too, he was a fast learner he was sure that something he could provide would be useful. She'd seemed nice towards him anyways so maybe it wasn't so bad of a idea.

They were supposed to be enemies but this girl was nice to him, she didn't seem To look down on him or brush him off as her District partner and so many others before had. She treated him with respect and that was exactly what he so wanted. Somehow she'd known exactly how to make him like her. She'd understood him so that she knew the exact words to say, the exact way to act. SHe was everything he wanted, someone to treat him like a person, not just the boy who worked at the grocery shop, or the weak District partner who cried on the train or just the average citizen. She's treated him as if he were something special. As if he were actually worth her attention. this goddess of a girl treated him as if she were his equal. That amazed Thorn. Exactly how to gain his trust and he felt himself handing it over. This girl seemed to know Thorn without him even saying anything, he was amazed.

He listened the man explain some things in depth. Kind brown eyes sparkling everytime Thorn asked a question, with a bit of sadness mixed in. Thorn didn't have to think too hard to imagine what this sadness was for.

He stayed there sitting, listening to what the man was saying. He turned towards Maya and Midas, it was supposed to be a quick glance. Instead he met crystal blue eyes, set in a clear expression of solemnity. It was a short quick shake of the head before he turned back towards his book, scribbling something down. Thorn could only turn back himself, left to wonder what exactly the shake of the head meant. He shrugged it off, it was just Midas. He could simply ignore him.

* * *

Asher's partner had been replaced with the girl from four. Who seemEd eager to show off. Asher could feel arrogance radiating off of her. Not in the way she spoke to him, or anything like jumping at the chance to showcase her abilities. No. She had simply walked over and asked if she could train a little too, perfectly innocent. It wasn't until she picked a spear, smiled at Asher and then started fighting that Asher could honestly feel her cockiness.

She was going easy on him, she was being purposefully reckless because she believed she would win even if she didn't take him seriously. That brushed Asher in such a wrong way that it wasn't even funny. He'd been training for hours now and this girl waltzes in a has the audacity to then go easy on him. She is wearing a smile that Asher wants so badly to wipe off her face. Never in his life had he been this confident, even when the match seems so poured in your favour do you go easy on your opponent. Because it's insulting to him, honestly.

This child thinks that Asher is someone who she can just brush off and that's insulting. Does any effort he put Into anything mean anything. Seemed as if anything he did someone was always there to top him. And then to rub it in that they were so much better. And it was so goddamn frustrating.

He parried her attack. Before countering with one of his own, she blocked it before feinting left and attacking right. Something which Asher hadn't seen coming. One fatal move later and once again Asher was found weapon less, his spear lay abandoned on the ground a few feet away. A metal tipped pressed very lightly against his chest. He was heaving and panting, a grimace on his face when he met the cocky smirk of the girl who's just beaten him.

"Nice try."

He didn't want to hear her stupid words of encouragement. Telling him that he did well and that it was a nice try. He didn't care because he didn't want her telling him those words after treating him as if he were inferior. Asher returned the smile because he would feel guilty if he didn't. Which was probably stupid, because in about a week he would be forced to potentially kill this girl. What was the point of being polite now. Asher could tell her to simply 'fuck off.' but that wasn't how Asher was. He was a passive spirit at heart. And although he may get intense sometimes he never really had it in him to act on his thoughts of malice. They just kind of sat there, useless just like the rest of him.

He took a deep breath before turning to the instructor. "I'm gonna go try something else. Thanks." Before walking off, not bothering to see the reaction of the girl or the instructor. He just wanted out. He wanted to get away from that girl and he wanted some space.

He vaguely noted the girl from nine on the agility course. Climbing and running and jumping with a practiced ease that he would admit to being just a little impressed of. She had such agility and flexibility, both things that Asher's own physique didn't allow him to properly have. He was big boned and muscled, she was skinny and quick. He watched as she managed to swing from bar to bar with ease and ability that was genuinely fascinating to watch. At least someone here wasn't a failure. He sighed, contemplating where to go next.

He noted a little boy at the medical station and decided to go there. He knew it'd probably be necessary if he ever got hurt In the arena. That fact that boy seemed to be the exact opposite of cocky only influenced his choice a little. Asher quickly made his way over, with long strides and the need to _just get away_ from that girl still strong. He made his way to the table, taking a stand right next to boy. He had tanned skin and was currently biting his lip in concentration, as he attempted to disinfect a cut on his left elbow. How he got it Asher supposed was left up to speculation.

He barely seemed to noticed Asher as he reached out for the book let out by the trainers. He did notice however when Asher spoke. "Do you know what page you can find how to treat a broken bone?" The smaller boy jumped slightly at his voice, and Asher out of slight fear took a step back. "Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you. It's just that, um, I'd thought you'd notice me and-" He felt himself rambling off apologies towards the boy as he continued to regain his posture. Still seemingly shocked by Asher's interruption.

"No worries." The boy quickly cut offAsher's rant, with a slight blush on his face. "Also, there's a table of contents on page three." Asher nodded in thanks and the boy quickly went back to simply fixing up his cut. Not even trying to continue the conversation. Asher didn't mind so much, it was the boy's business to do whatever he wanted. Asher wasn't going to pry. Asher vaguely remembered the boy as the one from District eight, his name currently escaping him at the moment. Thread, he thinks it is. Yeah, he was the one Asher had thought had the weird District related name.

They worked in silence, not once bothering to exchange words. Asher found he really didn't mind this. This was good, this was fine. They were working, that was all that mattered. They weren't here to become friends. They were here to learn how to survive during the games. That should've their ultimate goal. Asher was not letting it escape him. His goal was to win. He couldn't afford to forget that. Forgetting it could mean death.

Asher breathed out and scratched the back of his neck, admiring his ownhandywork. At least he was better at this than at fighting with a spear. Tomorrow he'd try a different weapon. God, if only they allowed him to use a gun. This whole mess could have been avoided. Asher was trained in a gun, it was what he was good at. But apparently that wasn't allowed. What a pain. He supposed he could try the bow tomorrow,it was similar to a gun right? Sorta, maybe? If worse came to worse he could always just use his physical strength. He could try out some wrestling. He was sure to be okay at that.

He turned towards the boy next to him. "Thread, right?" At the mention of his name the boy looked up and nodded. "Um... I'm Asher." Internally he cursed himself for just how awkward he sounded. "Do you mind if I use that bandage?" He gestured vaguely towards the roll of white cloth the other boy wasn currently holding. Thread looked down at his hands, before nodding and handing it over. He seemed reserved and shy not even bothering to say anything else.

Asher turned back to his hands and continued working. Trying to ignore the twist in his gut telling him that in less than a week, he may have to kill this shy, shy boy.

* * *

Over the last hour or so Midas had come to the conclusion that Thorn was no different than anyone else. Thorn couldn't see through Maya's act that Midas felt was second nature to him. He'd fallen straight into the trap that Maya had so obviously set for him. Midas resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Thorn amicably spoke with Maya. What an idiot. Or, maybe he wasn't so incompetent. After all, it was Maya. The only person he'd ever seen even match Maya was himself. And Maya and Midas were special, two halves of a coin, they were different.

Midas watched the instructor pull out another plant. It was a strange green thing that Midas really had no interest in learning about. He cLeated his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in their makeshift little square. He stood up stretching out his arms and scratching at his head, ruffling his hair even further. "I'm done for the day. You two have fun, k?" He saw the briefest flash of a glare appear on Maya's facial features, eyes turning downwards and mouth into a slight grimace, before obviously it cleared. Midas doubted Thorn had caught any of it. It was only the subtlest of movements, but Midas knew Maya, therefore he caught it. He always caught it. And he was certain that she knew he'd caught it.

"I'll come with you. We are partners after all, correct? So where're we headed, Midas?" Maya swiftly stood up, not leaving any room for argument. Brushing off imaginary dust from her pants, before lacing her hands behind her back. An innocent smile gracing her features, Midas knew it was anything but. He saw the malice behind the smile, the venom in her eyes. He simply returned the smile.

"You suggested sword fighting, right? We could go there." It's a statement, this is where they are going. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Thorn watching the exchange, Midas hopes the boy isn't stupid enough to follow them. But of course Maya catches him watching Thorn, he thinks, no, he's _sure_ she's about to ask the boy to join them, but she only smirks once at him before starting the trek towards the swords. Midas rolls his eyes, sticks his hands in his pockets and then follows after her.

She slows her pace so that he can catch up, an eyebrow raised in question. "Practice together?" He nods, it's fast and jerky, Midas internally curses himself for just how unrealistic it looks. If Maya catches it she doesn't let on, but If Midas knows her half as well as he thinks he does, then she most definitely caught this.

They reach the station soon enough. The instructor is there, he is sitting on the floor polishing a sword. He looks up once he sense their presence, gives them a smile. "Hey there. Pick up a sword and I'll start the lesson"

Midas goes towards the rack, he picks up one in the centre. It's a little too heavy but Midas doesn't think much of it. He watches Maya do the same, twisting it around with her hand before she smiles at the man. "There's no need, we're just going to spar a little." He seems reluctant, but melts at the smile and brightness Maya seem to radiate. Just another fool to fall for her, Midas supposes. It's such a pity, Maya knows exactly what she's doing. These guys don't stand a chance.

It reminds him of when they were still in school. Maya was a charmer, seemed everybody fell at her feet. But he knew that despite Maya leading all of them on, she didn't like even one of them. To Maya, people were ants, inferior to her. She was something akin to a goddess, they were just some lowly humans praying to her. Worshipping her. She manipulated them to keep liking her, yet all Midas could see was that she was playing all of them. He wondered how no one else could see it.

Why no one else was trying to stop it. When he expressed this to his friends they told him that they had no idea what he was talking about and he wanted to scream. To him, it was so obvious. It was fact. Like how the sky was blue or the grass green. But all anyone could see was this angel. Midas didn't understand it. He thinks he was the first to ever see through Maya's act, he thinks this is why she even bothers with him. Because to her, it'll be somuch more rewarding when he falls. Like how everyone around her does.

"Ready, Midas?" Her voice shocked him out of his thoughts. He smirked, blue eyes not betraying anything. "Sure." She gave him a smile. Not saying anything after, she simply raised her sword. He nodded.

They started to circle each other. Midas' face was blank, but Maya was smiling. Both were wearing a mask on their own right. Midas was thinking, sure he'd never had professional training with a sword. But when you're desperate enough to try, you learn quickly. He's picked up some techniques from the war. Things they didn't teach in schools. Street smarts. He was taught how to play dirty.

He was waiting for her to strike, but he knew that Maya was a lot more patient than he was. He lunged at her, sword attempting to slice through. He wasn't waiting for the games, if he could hurt her now then it was all the better. She seemed to catch on quickly, blocking before thrusting her sword herself. Midas dodged, throwing her slightly off balance, the force behind the thrust carrying her slightly off balance. This was their chance to vent, this was their chance to show the other _exactly_ how far they were willing to go.

It was an endless attack of slicing and thrusting, dodging, blocking, and still not a single drop of blood had been spilled. He growled as he attacked again, this time feigning left before going right. She saw it coming though, didn't she always, and blocked it before going for her own. A clean slice, down his left arm, and it stung. He'd been off balance From his previous attack, she took his moment of weakness and turned it against him.

He saw the Crimson liquid as it trickled down his arm, slowly, it stung like hell and it hurt. He saw the instructor moving to get up but ignored him, he was not letting Maya win, not now not ever. He used Maya's moment of cockiness, where she was simply relishing it the victory she'd pulled against him. He went for her sword, she saw it coming, she moved to block. But Midas' already had his momentum. Using his sword as a distraction, aiming towards her left side, he used his free hand to grab her wrist and pull. Pull her down.

She resisted, but her energy had already been focused on his sword. She didn't have enough to pull herself back up as he kicked her back down. He stepped on her hand, forcing her to release the sword. She hissed and clutched her hand, now red and weapon less. She was angry, so angry she was letting it show. It wasn't just a matter of Midas beating her, it was him doing it in public. A sword to her throat, she sighed.

He smirked down at her, what he didn't catch was the ghost of a smile on her lips. She swept his legs out from under him, using legs he hadn't been worried about her using. His weapon flew from his hand, skirting off somewhere before disappearing, back arched as he hit the ground because it hurt and he was sure he'd bruise tomorrow. A foot was jammed into his stomach and he coughed, winded. It hurt and his arm was still bleeding. It'd stained the carpet red.

One foot was on his chest, the other on his legs, making sure he couldn't get up. "Well, Midas, looks like I've won." She realeased him from her hold. And he was angry, and she was right there. For once, Midas didn't think, he reached out and pulled.

Maya's neck was in his hands, he was holding her up. He was physically hurting her. But all she was doing was smiling, smiling as her head turned purple. Midas only squeezed harder. He vaguely felt hands on his back, pulling him away from Maya. He tried to kick them but there were too many. He realeased his hold just as he'd realized what he'd done.

Everyone's eyes were in him. And he realized that he regretted it. He was panting, his arms and legs held back but two of the trainers. He looked across from him, where Maya was being fussed over by the female nurse who's seemed to have just arrived. he could already see the bruises on her neck starting to form. She was smiling, smirking at him.

Because he hadn't thought, just acted. He'd shown everyone here something crucial that could be used against him. He'd lost so much more than a sword fight, he'd made his tributes and instructor turn against him. And it was all Maya's fault. She'd laid out the trap and for once he'd walked right into it. He willingly walked into one of Maya's traps. He saw the victory shining in her eyes. And panic and hatred started swimming through his veins. Everyone was looking at him with mixtures of disgust, some turning their head when he looked directly at them. They thought him a monster, and it was all Maya's fault.

All except one. Hollis, the boy from nine, gave him an approving nod before turning back to whatever it was he'd been doing. Midas was grateful at least someone could igh,he bet it was just the common factor that they were both rebels. In a world that favoured those of the opposing aliegience.

He made sure his face betrayed nothing. He must look sick, he must look sadistic, he must look like Maya. He realized, he must look like a monster. A blank face after almost killing her. He was only supposed to show Maya how far he was willing to go,mbut instead he's shown eveyone and it was something he regretted so _freakin'_ much. And it was all Maya's fault.

"Get off of me." Midas said to the men holding him, he made sure his voice was still full of venom. Not wanting it to fall flat like the rest of him. The taller of the two shook his head. "Nope, sorry, rebel. We're bringing you back. That's enough training for you today, I'm sure you got in lots of experience." The mans eyes held no warmth or sadness that previous ones had. Midas really had become a monster in their eyes hadn't he. All pity he'd had is now gone. Now he was a monster for trying to hit a sweet innocent girl, right? He'd crossed the line, he'd touched the untouchable. These games started to feel more and more like home each second he spent in them. Ironic how it was always Maya, wasn't it? She was the one who'd ruined his life the first time, here she was dong it again.

They carried him out, but he could still feel Maya smiling that damn smile. He wanted to cut it off, destroy it. He hung his head, seething without letting them see. They always took her side. Always. He just wanted someone who could see her for what she was. So he wasn't alone in this fight. He always felt alone and he just wanted someon to understand. Midas shouldn't wish for impossible things, but it was still fun to hope, right? God. Today he'd been just as bad as any of Maya's followers. Any of the pining boys. Any of the adults or officials who fell for her mask of an angel. Midas had fallen.

At least he had in her eyes. Midas, was going to prove her wrong.

* * *

Thorn watched the boy be carried off, silently, he smirked to himself. Proved the bastard right. Thorn wanted to tell him 'I told you so'. Tell him off because this was what the guy had coming didn't he. You didn't mess with Maya, that part was obvious. For someone who came from the same district and seemed to actually know the unknowable, he didn't seem to know the unsaid rules before him. The rule that Maya, herself, was untouchable. Thorn was baffled by the boy's incompetence. Midas was a mystery, he didn't abide the status quo, he didn't abide by anything. Other than the fact that he was Midas.

Thorn had been changed and warped so many times over again because of what he believed society had set out for him. Had changed based on others images of right and wrong. Naturally he did what everyone else did. People said this made him a follower, Thorn said that this made him smart. Less likely to get killed right? But Midas, Midas didn't care about any of that. Thorn found it irritating, this boy was reckless. It was what would get him killed Thorn reasoned. It was what would get him killed.

At least now, the boy's true colours had been revealed. Thorn felt himself wanting more and more to know their story. But all he seemed to be abLe to focus on was Maya. She was like a magnet, he observed, she just seemed to draw people in. He wasn't sure if she was aware of it, but she did. Thorn found himself intrigued, found himself thinking that he wanted to understand her. A feat, seeming to belong solely to the very same boy who just seconds ago had seemed to forget the most basic rule. That Maya was above them. Thorn wondered if the rule had ever even applied to the boy, as it seemed to apply to everyone else.

Thorn couldn't help but wonder what their relationship truly was. What was Midas to Maya. What were they to each other. Thorn, upon meeting Maya, had established two very basic things. Maya was above him in every aspect imaginable and that she was untouchable. She was like a goddess, he mused. He couldn't bring himself to understand why Midas seemed to be treated as the exception. He was average, perfectly normal as far as Thorn could tel. Not particularly strong, or smart, or handsome and it irked Thorn. How Had someone so unremarkable be thought equal to someone like Maya, by Maya. Who in Thorn's eye, was someone who would look down on Thorn and Thorn would be ok with it.

Who was Midas, some average blond boy, to disrupt this. Who was he, in Maya's life to upset the balance. Thorn raged internally,because who was Midas. Why was he the exception when there were so many others better than himself. And why didn't Maya seem to protest this fact. She accepted it, as of Midas too were somewhat of an equal to her. Why did she accept it too? Why did anyone accept it. Thorn doubted anyone outside of himself cared, but Thorn did and that was enough. Because in his eyes, Midas was undeserving of everything thrown his way. Thorn was glad he'd be able to witness the fall from grace Midas so obviously had coming.

Oh how the mighty had fallen. A brief glance towards Maya and Thorn froze. She was smiling, a bitter, cold smile. Which made Thorn freeze, because was this really the same Maya he'd been talking to just moments prior. But he blinked once and it was gone. Leading Thorn to believe it had all been an illusion. Yep, there it was a small, sad girl, who was still trying to look strong. Thorn acknowledged all this with the passing of a smile. Despite his musing of the girl being some sort of goddess, she was still human after all. Which, Thorn thought, might be the only way Midas would ever view her. Pity, how the bottom would indulge themselves of such fantasies of false importance. Though, he supposed, it wasn't completely unjust, for the mighty encouraged it.

Thorn wished though, he truly did wish, to know of the relationship behind that of Maya and Midas. What were they to each other? And who even were they anyways?

* * *

Asher's watching of the scene in front of him was that of mild intrigue. He wondered why he had failed to see it before, the undeniable hate the boy from one had for his partner. The undeniable loathing he displayed for the girl. No matter, at least those were two tributes Asher didn't need to interact with at all. Less strong opponents. Those two would simply eliminate each other. Instead he could focus on staying in the little bubble that was his thoughts.

The boy from earlier, Thread, had long gone and left the table. Gone somewhere else, Asher hadn't asked the boy where he was going, he'd simply let the boy up and leave. To was none of Asher's business anyways. They were competitors, enemies. Asher didn't have time for such fantasies such as friends. All Asher wanted to do now was sleep. He was tired from the day of hard work. Hard learning. If he closed his eyes he could convince himself that he was back home, in bed, Titus was there too. In the cot next to him on the floor, he was snoring, Titus that is, while Asher tried in vain to sleep despite it.

Thread reminded him so much of home. The shy little boy Asher had once been before peacekeeper training. Before these stupid games. Asher felt homesick alone and vaguely unprepared for the real world after a lifetime in the academy. All Asher had ever wanted to do was go home, this time. Right here, there, right now, those desires hadn't changed. If anything they had only grown. From cocky sixteen year olds, to shy boys. Asher just wanted to go home.

Did it make him selfish for wanting to go home so badly he could kill, despite it going against all he had ever prided himself on. Was Asher such a bad person for letting his thoughts turn down a lane of darkness and despair when it really was the only option available. What else was he going to do. He couldn't live in constant fear of he wanted to save his family. He couldn't live like this if he wanted to live properly. Because this wasn't living it was imprisonnement. He was dead before the games even started of he refused to accept the reality that he would have to kill. He was a boy, but he was being forced to kill.

Long ago, Asher was sure this would have been shamed and rioted against. But now, everyone seemed excited for it, ready even. Asher felt more than a little disgusted. The people of the Capitol were waiting to see him butchered. They wanted to see him killed. Nothing personal, they just wanted a little bloodshed. Asher was a candidate for that blood spilled. He was merely a player in these games, he didn't really have any ground to stand on. Asher came to slightly detest the Capitol as the days went on, because what kind of lunatics wanted to children kill other children. Some of which had done absolutely nothing to deserve it. Some had even defended the very same people now trying to get them killed. They were all a bunch of sick bastards and Asher wanted to know just how messed up a person could be before it was considered too far. He wondered where the citizens of the Capitol feel on that line. Where he and the other tributes fell on that line.

Did they ever stop to think of anyone but themselves. Did they ever stop and think of people's families. People's friends. There's a term for it, Somewhere there is. A term for the realization that everyone around you leads as complicated and meddlesome lives as do you. That everyone goes through their own struggles. The random passerbys you walk by on the street are all living exactly as you are. Asher doesn't think the Capitol citizens realize this. This fact that the tributes are not just paper cut outs for them to observe and watch for their own sick amusement. They are people too, the tributes. So they should be treated as such.

It was the academy all over again. There, he was a soldier, nothing more. He was not meant to show emotion, he was the epitome of stoic. Soldiers were not meant to show mercy, nor pity. They were supposed to embody all that was justice. Justice did not show mercy nor compassion to those who had wronged it. Asher was treated as such. This was all but too familiar. All that would properly complete it was a gun and a white uniform. One that spoke measures despite it being so simple. Yet it was that certain simplicity that made it so intimidating. It was the fact that justice had to be simple. Had to be easy to comprehend. Laws were laws. No matter the circumstances, no matter the context, the law was the law. And if broken, justice would bestow punishment on the perpetrator. There was no room for debate, it was the first lesson drilled into them. The first of many that Asher would grow to never quite be able to understand. Because Asher was a boy of compassion who didn't understand other need to rid themselves of said emotion.

Asher was always different. He was never quite the stoic soldier he was supposed to be. So he was treated as less than human. This was simply that same treatment for a fact Asher once again, could not control.

* * *

When it came to Maya, everyone had some sort of God complex when regarding her. They treated her as if she were more than them. That was their first fault. Midas saw it all the time. Thorn wasn't the first, Lilith Teacup, their escort, wasn't the first, neither of them would be the last, of that he was certain. It was something even Midas wasn't sure where it'd began. Why the young girl had even picked it up. Why she'd truly started it. There must have been a time where she was just like all the rest, right? Where Maya Spencer was actually normal. There must have been a time when this statement was true.

When regarding Maya, everyone seemed to look at her with glasses that obscured their vision, left nothing but a blurry image which they interpreted as God. Midas knew of all this. Now, in his room, locked and alone, Midas' thoughts and vision was finally clear. He was fine to interpret everything as it came. And he was certain that Maya's first step here was Thorn. Because that was what everyone was to Maya, just another step. At one point, Midas bet that he himself was but another step for the self proclaimed goddess once upon a time as well. That was until he became so much more. Which was why Maya was so hellbent on killing him.

He didn't do what she wanted. He disrupted her control. If it was anything Maya treasured, it was her control. Control over others. Control over herself. As long as she was in control everything was fine. Midas debunked that control, threw it straight back into her face, and for a second, Maya slipped on the very step she was going to use to bring herself up. Instead, she fell down. Someone had taken their glasses off, and Maya had lost control.

So Midas was regarded as a threat. As a rival. Someone who had finally taken off the glasses. Maya was ready for the challenge, but here's the thing. Maya didn't enter competitions she knew she couldn't win. This game, this game he and Maya played. She'd had control over it the entire time. Because she understood humans, she was a god after all wasn't she, she had them all in the palm of her hand. It didn't matter if Midas, if faced one on one, could beat her fairly. Maya didn't play fair. She didn't leave things up to chance. Maya had to be in control. That was her role in life. A self proclaimed goddess. That was who Maya was. Who everyone perceived her as.

Everyone always focused on the GODDESS part, very few seemed to see the SELF PROCLAMIED part. Because to Midas, that was the important part. Despite what anyone might think, Maya was no Godess. She was a girl, she was a child. She was the same as Midas, or Thorn, or even Lilith Teacup. Everyone possessed the power to call themselves anything they so pleased. But hardly any acted on this power. Not Maya. She embraced it, and so she became a self proclaimed goddess. She was just a little girl fooling herself into thinking she was something bigger. And that was what Midas would always perceive her as.

Perhaps Maya viewed he himself in ways even he wasn't aware of. Maybe all this simple deducing and observing was meaningless. Maya loved control. He doubted she would so easily relinquish it. When someone had enough confidence in what they said, it became a sort of truth in of itself, correct? Midas thinks this is the main reason for why the name Maya Spencer hold such a firm grasp on others. The girl is so confident in what she says, perhaps even she no longer believes it to be a lie. That is her downfall. And Midas is determined to use it any way he can.

See, maybe he also viewed Maya as above him. But not the way everyone else did. They saw her on some sort of pedestal perhaps, up there in Olympus, surrounded by friends and followers. To them, she was God, she was looking down of them, but with a certain kindness, sympathy and understanding. Midas saw a vengeful dictator, being held up but lies and others. People, under her, holding her up so that she appeared taller than the rest. They're supporting her, without them she is just a girl spewing false bravado. Midas knows this. She's aloof because she believes herself superior. But she only sees herself this way because everyone else enforces it.

Thorn, Lilith, all the others. They claim to want to be free. But they are all still so desperate for orders. He'd seen it during the war, it was no different here. Rebels, soldiers, they all came over to the side of what most called freedom. But once over here, all they could say we're questions. Asking the higher ups what they should do. What orders they should take. The rebels were fighting for freedom, but no one seemed to truly want it. People came over to the winning side, or what they believed to be the winning side. Slap the word freedom on something and obviously people are going to flock to it. They enjoy the notion, the symbol that freedom is, but none of them truly want it. They just want what it stands for.

Maya understands this desire for someone to do everything for you. To not be counted guilty for your crimes. It was so much easier to just blame it all on the higher ups, wasn't it. Maya controls this desire, she manipulates it. Midas watches her do it. Maya offers false freedom, Midas offers real freedom. No rules, no Maya's telling them what to do. But none of them want that. They want Maya, bossing them around, telling them what to do. Midas understands this. Doesn't stop him from laughing at their stupidity. Or cursing Maya for her genius.


End file.
